


A Storm Without Rain

by Anonymous_Ostrich



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Canon-Typical Violence, Case Fic, Connor buys a dick, Developing Relationship, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Eventual Smut, First Time, First Time Blow Jobs, Fluff and Angst, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Mutual Pining, Post-Pacifist Best Ending (Detroit: Become Human), Praise Kink, Slow Burn, Struggling with Emotions, Yes you read that right, protective!Hank, sexual awakening
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-01
Updated: 2019-05-25
Packaged: 2019-07-21 02:58:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 19
Words: 99,351
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16151114
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Anonymous_Ostrich/pseuds/Anonymous_Ostrich
Summary: Connor knew by now that a self-diagnostic couldn’t identify what was wrong with him, but he didn’t know how else to address it, how to make it stop. These emotions flooded him, they stung him like a bullet in his chest, and even after four and a half months he hadn’t found a way to master them. They only seemed to get more confusing, more painful, more distracting. Hank both alleviated that pain and amplified it. It made no sense.Emotions were all about contradictions. Connor just couldn't keep up.





	1. Chapter 1

_Incoming text_

_Recipient: Hank Anderson_

_> home in 15_

Busy hands ceased working abruptly, a dish frozen in mid-scrub. The LED on Connor's right temple flashed blue as the message was received, and in .3 seconds a reply was drafted.

_> Dinner will be ready for you when you return. Be safe getting back, there is a winter advisory in effect._

_Reply Sent Successfully_

There was no immediate reply, of course, but there rarely was a reply at all. Hank usually only texted to give Connor a heads-up on when to expect him, which was flattering in of itself considering Hank rarely used his phone at all. Sometimes Connor wondered why he even had one.

Connor resumed his task of washing the dishes and utensils he'd used to cook dinner, checking the timer he set for the chicken cooking in the oven. Five minutes left. That left just enough time to chop the radishes and chives for the salad and saute them in the reduced-fat butter he currently had sizzling on the skillet.

He dried and put away the dishes in record time, moving on to the waiting cutting board. Knife in hand, Connor accessed one of his favorite songs by Knights of the Black Death - "ROSEBUD" - and began playing it in his internal audio processor as he started chopping and preparing the vegetables.

Food preparation was not part of Connor's original programming, but he had to admit that he found cooking enjoyable. Learning to cook started out as just one of the many ways he intended to thank Hank for allowing him to live in his home - 'earning his keep', the expression went - but rather quickly Connor realized he experienced a certain level of relaxation when downloading recipes, meal planning, measuring out calories and nutrients and preparing the food. It was satisfying somehow. Strange.

_> Perhaps I only enjoy it because I'm cooking fo͏͓̥̙ṟ̘͓͈̘͎͇ ̘̀H̸̟̟̻ͅa̪̲͙̹̗̼n̴͕͚̟̗k͍̠͉̱̼͇._

_Error found_

_Notification archived_

The timer went off. The chicken came out of the oven and was set aside, and the vegetables went into the skillet. The next song on the album autoplayed, and Connor decidedly turned the volume up. The louder the music was, the harder it was to focus on confusing errors in his system. Hank's fondness of heavy metal suddenly made a lot of sense.

Connor was plating the chicken when the familiar jingle of keys in a lock marked Hank's arrival. With a grunt Sumo stood from his comfortable spot next to the kitchen table, tail slowly wagging as he walked into the other room to greet his master. A moment later Hank appeared, pulling off his jacket, tossing his keys and phone on the table.

"Damn, how does it always smell so good in here?" Hank asked gruffly. "It's always a fuckin' lie, though. How much green shit did you sneak onto that plate, huh?"

"Welcome home, Hank," Connor offered, spooning the vegetables next to the chicken breast. "Not all vegetables are green, but I understand what you were implying regardless. How was work?"

Hank snorted, petting Sumo behind the ear while pulling a chair out with his foot and sitting down at the kitchen table. "Busy."

"Just… busy?" Connor opened the fridge to retrieve the sauce he'd prepared earlier. He spooned a hearty dollop onto the chicken. "Considering the volume of cases flooding into the DPD since humans returned to Detroit, I would think 'busy' might be simplifying it a bit."

"Maybe. Whadda you want from me? It's been a long day, last thing I wanna do when I get home is relive every aggravating moment."

On his way to pick up Hank's plate, Connor's hand stilled for just a moment and his shoulders tensed by a tenth of a degree. Although Connor had been certain his body's involuntary response to Hank's phrasing hadn't been evident, Hank seemed to take notice. Hank coughed awkwardly into his hand.

"Aah, sorry Connor. I wasn't really thinking about- well, I'm just sorry."

"Don't worry, it's fine." He picked up the plate and delivered it to the table. "Dijon-herb crusted chicken with creamy dill sauce," Connor explained, setting the plate neatly in front of Hank, "with warm buttered radish and edamame salad."

"Jesus christ, Connor, why are you always cooking shit I can barely pronounce?" Hank prodded the chicken with his fork as if trying to figure out a point of entry before stabbing it, pulling off a chunk, and stuffing it into his mouth with a grimace. Connor watched him, enhancing his visual processors by 30% to scrutinize every detail of Hank's expression. The grimace softened, Hank's brows twitched, and with each chew he displayed 11% more enjoyment than the last. Connor felt himself relax, victorious. He pulled out a chair and sat down, Sumo immediately sticking his head in Connor's lap.

"How is it?" Connor asked.

Hank never looked happy to admit that the healthy meals Connor cooked for him tasted good, but somehow that made Connor's victory all the sweeter every time. "Not bad," Hank said, stabbing some radish, "for healthy shit, anyway."

"I downloaded this recipe today. I chose it specifically for its high vitamin C and lean protein content, since your cholesterol is still higher than I'd like."

"You know how to take all the fun out of eating, you know that?" Hank chided, taking another bite despite his complaining.

"You're still eating, so I'm sure it can't be all that bad."

Hank only grunted in reply, probably finding it futile to deny it while chewing the evidence. Connor's mouth tugged up in a grin, but he decided to let the subject drop to allow Hank time to eat in relative peace. He'd had a long day at the precinct, after all.

Several moments went by in silence. Hank focused on eating his dinner, and since Connor didn't want to disturb him with idle conversation, he decided to start on the rest of the dishes. As he began to clear the counter and place the last of the dirty dishes into the sink, Hank waved impatiently in Connor's direction, choking down his food in order to talk.

"Connor, leave em. I can take care of those, you've done enough today," Hank said. Connor merely raised a brow at him, turning on the water.

"It's no trouble." Connor argued, starting to scrub. "It's the least I can do."

Hank sighed. He rose from the table, his plate empty, and went to join Connor at the sink. He dropped his plate and silver into the soapy water. "At least let me dry, then."

"There's no need. I can take care of cleaning up in here if you'd rather relax on the couch. Maybe unwind while watching some TV?"

Hank laughed through his nose. "Are you tryin' to get rid of me or something?"

Connor's head snapped in Hank's direction, surprised. "What? No, of course not."

"Then let me  _help_ for fuck's sake," Hank grumbled, snatching a towel from the counter. "Look, Connor, I love all the stuff you've been doing around here. I'm grateful, okay? But you don't have to do  _everything_. Do you know how many food joints around here deliver? You can take a night off every now and again, a pizza here and there won't kill me. And I can clean my own damn dishes if you wanna be the one lazing around in front of the TV sometimes."

Connor handed Hank the first dish. "Hank, do you think that I  _dislike_ doing this sort of labor?"

Hank dried off the dish with a thoughtful frown. "Hell if I know what's going on in that android brain of yours. It's just… Well. You're not a slave anymore. You don't have to do anything you don't wanna do, and the last thing I want to do is take advantage of you."

"You are  _not_ taking advantage of me," Connor answered firmly, the dishes momentarily forgotten to him. "After I became a deviant, after everything that happened, I had absolutely nowhere to go. You took me in without question, and I can't begin to pay you back for that. Isn't it typical for humans to pay rent or provide some other method of compensation in this sort of scenario?"

"Well yeah, but-"

"Doing the housework and ensuring you are regularly eating nutritious food is the very least I can do to repay you. I don't mind. In fact, I even enjoy it to a degree. I've expanded my skill set, and it keeps me busy so that I don't have to think about-"

 _> Do not burden him with unnecessary information_.

"...other things."

Silence. For several moments, both men washed and dried dishes without a word. Connor couldn't help but take note of the heaviness in the air, the way Hank stood stiffly while being handed the items to dry, the way he avoided Connor's eyes at all costs. It was still awkward for them to talk about. Connor hated to bring it up, purely because there was nothing either he or Hank could do about the state of things. He knew it bothered Hank just as much as it bothered him - perhaps more so - but complaining didn't do either of them any good. It was just the way things were for now.

"You know," Hank began, startling Connor out of his spinning, circular thoughts, "I was thinking. I could use some help looking over some of these cases Jeffrey keeps throwing at me. Maybe I could bring a couple of em home with me, have you take a look at em. Help me brainstorm."

Connor's mouth opened, but his vocal processors didn't respond right away. "That's…" His LED spun yellow. "Wouldn't you get in trouble with Captain Fowler, if he were to find out?"

"For what?" Hank chuckled. "For bringing work home with me? Finding out that I'm working off the clock might give him a goddamn heart attack, but I doubt he'd tell me off. Might give me a fuckin' medal, actually."

Connor's eyes fell to the sink, considering. Hank grinned. "Come on, Connor. Just say yes already."

"Yes," Connor answered quickly. It was pointless to mask his eagerness. He hadn't seen a case in  _so long_. "If you think I could help, I wouldn't mind taking a look."

"Great. It's settled then." Another small silence, lighter than the last, more relieved. After a long, pensive moment, Hank leaned against the counter, staring hard at the sink for lack of somewhere less awkward to stare. "For the record, Connor, I'd let you stay here even if you did jack shit for me. When I offered you a home here I didn't want or expect anything back. You've helped me enough." He cleared his throat. "I owe you... I owe you my life. Letting you ride my couch is the least  _I_ can do."

Something was happening again. A strange warmth inside, like his biocomponents were overheating, a soft, nameless tingling that left his arms feeling numb and useless at his sides. Another error notification popped up but he dismissed it.

"Thanks, Hank."

"Yeah." Hank tossed the towel back onto the counter. "Look, these fuckin' dishes can wait. Let's watch some TV and  _both_ take a break, huh?"

Connor's thirium was roaring in his ears. (Which it couldn't be, of course, since he'd run three diagnostics on himself today and each came back with nothing, and spontaneously roaring thirium was most definitely  _something_.) Whenever this happened, whenever Hank got a little too close, leaned in to speak, placed his hand on the low of Connor's back or smiled at Connor with fondness in his eyes, something in Connor's program became irrational. Unhinged. Desperate. Predictably, an onslaught of error messages peppered Connor's HUD.

_> Tell him t͍̬h̼a͇̺̭̬͜t̞͈̞͎͈̙̠́ ̰̥̯̯͕y͙̟̙̜̖o̮̪̭u̝̖͈͔̮ ̨̱̤̦͎̞̣l̻̜o͇̙͔͔͠-_

_Error_

_> Tell h͞͏̬̝̲̣̮͉̼̦̠͇̤̤̰͈͖͚̙̞͎i҉̸̧̩̩̯͍m̵̜̟̳͈̥͈̪̦̦̗͝͞ ̟͙̹̝̻̪̯͎̗̳́ţ̵͘҉͉̻̙̮̮̣̟̝̠͈͡h̡̧̤̳͖̯͉̭̺͔̭̘̖̻̮a҉̱͇̺͈̖͎̹̘̘͕͖͇͙̗͕́͜͢͟t̵̶̙̠̬̹̠̙̳̤̦͍̜̩͔̣̗̪̦ ̷͙̗̞̳͍̟̼̥̤̫̦̫͞͠͝͞y̸̨̩̭̜̳̤̹̦̮̖ờ̸̮̫̰̩͈͎̳̫̮u҉̷̡̨̰̝̖͔̙͕̭̥̟̺͎̕ͅ_

_Error_

_> T̢̹͎̙̳̹̭̲̤͉̜̹̦̮̰̯̎ͩͯ̋̿ͤͩ͠͝ͅĔ̷̓ͪ̾͌ͧ̔҉͖͓̹͎̙̺̙̱̲̗̣̳̯͚̭L̛̊̾̑̑ͫ̕͏̴̵̬̞̩̗̟L͒͗̅͋̎̿̿ͣ͊̂̂͋̋̔͏̦̭̱͍͕̣̭̫̪̞̼͓̰͓͈͚͚̹̗͞ ̛͖̯̜̰̠͕͖̼͇͖̖̯̲͈̻̃͒̊̔ͣ͑ͤ͟͟͡ͅͅH̜͈̭̞̙̺̟̳͓͎̺̰̞̼̤͎͙̒ͥ̄̈́̈͗̓ͯͯ̉̀͘͟ͅͅI̶̷̧̦̤̺̠̖̦͚͇̱͕̓͒̑̀ͣ̓ͭ̄̇ͨͯ̋ͪ̍ͫ̊ͥ̑̀̚ͅM͗ͧͧ̄̏͘͏̞̯͚̣͜͠_

_Software Instability_

_Overload imminent_

_Notification thread archived for analysis_

"That sounds good," Connor choked out, running another self-diagnostic. Still nothing.

He knew by now that a self-diagnostic couldn't identify what was wrong with him, but he didn't know how else to address it, how to make it stop. These emotions flooded him, they stung him like a bullet in his chest, and even after four and a half months he hadn't found a way to master them. They only seemed to get more confusing, more painful, more distracting.

Hank both alleviated that pain and amplified it. It made no sense.

"Well come on then," Hank started toward the living room, Sumo following close behind, eager for couch cuddles. Connor padded after them, experiencing the strangest mixture of happiness and agony. Contradictions.

Emotions were all about contradictions.

Connor just couldn't keep up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A little glimpse at Connor and Hank’s life post-revolution, pre-relationship.
> 
> Yoooooo I know I'm a little late to the party but this ship got me baaad. Prepare for a lot of android feelings and crime-solving and weird android sex and domestic fluff. I confess I've always wanted to write a detective/mystery fic, so I'm pretty excited about this. (Crime and mystery intertwined with android/human relationship fluff of course. There's gonna be lots of that. And a big fluffy boi.)
> 
> Please leave a comment if you enjoyed!


	2. Chapter 2

"Hank, for the  _absolute last time_ , I don't write the fucking laws."

Jeffrey Fowler's bulky frame sat hunched over behind his desk, two fingers rubbing irritably at his temple, eyes decidedly turned away from his equally irritable lieutenant. Hank sat back in his chair, arms crossed defiantly over his chest, scowling deeply. No one in the room was happy, that much was clear. Hank knew bitching Jeffrey's ear off was just about as pointless as anything, but dammit, he needed to bitch to  _someone_.

"And I'm not asking you to, for christ's sake," Hank returned gruffly, "I just want some fuckin' answers. It's been  _five months_ , Jeffrey."

Jeffrey snorted. "Oh, I know. You've only been reminding me every fucking day since all this… this android shit calmed down. And I'll tell you what I tell you every day." He looked up just to throw an icy, pointed look at Hank across the desk. "I. Don't. Know. Anything. If you're still pissed that your new plastic bestie is out of a job, I don't know what to tell you. It's not my problem. I just work here, okay?"

"Plastic," Hank spat, glaring. "Come on, Jeffrey. Maybe you missed it, but there was this big-ass revolution thing a few months back? You might have seen something about it on the news. About android rights and all that? Maybe show a little bit of respect, huh?"

Jeffrey's eyebrows shot so far up his forehead they almost disappeared. Hank wasn't sure whether to take his shock as a victory or an insult. "Jesus god. What's that android done to you?  _Respect_? When was the last time you respected anyone who wasn't refilling your glass?"

Hank scoffed, his eyes rolling so hard his head followed the motion. "Wow. Classy." He rose from his chair, tugging his jacket pointedly. "Been sober for two months and twelve days, but fuck you too."

Jeffrey sighed laboriously. "Look, I'm sorry." Hank turned but didn't make a move for the door. "I'm sorry, okay? That's great, Hank, but you have to understand the position I'm in. I'm understaffed, overworked, cases flying in faster than I can assign them, and I've got a lieutenant who seems more interested in keeping an android employed than doing his damn job."

Hank turned, tossing his arms in the air. "How am I supposed to be okay with this shit?" he demanded. "Connor deserves to work these cases just as much as anyone else in this precinct. Instead, he's being treated like a criminal. There's all this talk of android equality, but those assholes in congress seem more interested in jacking off than working toward any kind of meaningful change."

"Welcome to democracy," Jeffrey offered sarcastically. "You're fucking lucky that android of yours wasn't destroyed after everything that happened. He  _killed_ people, Hank."

"In self-defense, for fuck's sake!"

"He infiltrated Cyberlife to knowingly aid a wanted criminal-"

"He saved my  _fucking life_ , Jeffrey! More than once!"

"- _AND_ , there's still debate on whether or not this whole thing is a social movement or an act of terrorism! You just expect congress to cave and give them everything they want? You want Connor carrying a  _firearm_ , Hank. Some people think that's a really, really fucking bad idea. No one understands this deviancy thing yet. I think the last thing on any politician's mind is making sure androids are given equal employment opportunities. They're still trying to sort through the bigger shit, like whether or not this uprising was just some random glitch in the system or something- I don't know, something more profound."

"Yeah well, I can answer that right now. It's not some fucking glitch. Connor deserves his job back."

Jeffrey raised his hands in surrender. "I'm not here to debate it, okay? I'll leave that to the assholes who write the laws. I'm just telling you what I know. People are scared. Might be years before an android can get any sort of job. Could be tomorrow, too. Either way, I'm pretty damn sure you'll be the first one to find out."

Hank went silent. Debating it was pointless. He knew all of this as well as Jeffrey did, as well as anyone did, but it didn't make it any less infuriating.

Hank sighed, shook his head. "Forget it."

"Did you seriously come in here to vent about social justice for androids?" Jeffrey asked wearily. He stood, pacified, smoothing his tie over the front of his shirt. "Listen, Hank. We've known each other for a long time. I get that this is important to you, but this precinct's got a boatload of cases that aren't going to work themselves. Let congress sort out the laws. If it makes a damn bit of difference, I promise that the  _second_ your android gets cleared for duty, I'll personally put him on the damn payroll, okay? Hell, I'll throw him a fucking welcome party."

Hank sucked a calming breath in through his nose, letting it out even more slowly through his lips. A trick he learned in therapy a while back that only recently started to actually work. "Thanks, Jeffrey. Sorry for… you know. It's just so goddamn frustrating."

"And I'm trying to sympathize with you, I swear. But you gotta put yourself in my shoes for one goddamn minute and realize that androids or no androids, this world keeps moving. And right now it seems to be moving straight into a crap-chute, so I'd appreciate some fucking help around here if it isn't too much trouble."

Hank turned for the door, swatting Jeffrey's words away dismissively. "Yeah, yeah."

"Hank." Jeffrey's voice halted Hank at the door. Hank turned, half-expecting another reprimand. "Congrats on two months. I'm proud of you. I may not know where I stand on the whole android issue, but Connor's been good for you."

One thing Hank had never been great at was accepting praise of any variety, but he'd known Jeffrey long enough to appreciate a compliment when he heard one. (Mostly because he'd  _never_ heard one.) He offered Jeffrey a stiff nod.

"Yeah. I'm just trying to be good for him, now."

.

.

.

A strange byproduct of living with Connor was that for the first time in over three years, coming home at the end of the day was a relief. It made him happy. It filled him with a sort of fond anticipation he couldn't put a name to. It wasn't that Sumo didn't make him happy or give him a reason to come home, but it was different now, he couldn't deny that. Maybe it was all the healthy shit Connor had him eating now, (god he missed hamburgers,) maybe it was that he didn't pass out piss-ass drunk every night anymore.

Or maybe that was all horseshit.

Hank knew exactly why he looked forward to coming home every day, but since he still wasn't accustomed to facing heavy emotions without a bottle of whiskey, he chose to press that shit down deep. It would pass. It  _had_ to pass.

Coming to a stop at a red light, Hank pulled out his phone and quickly sent Connor a text, as was usual. It was the same text he sent nearly every night.

_> home in 15_

The light turned green. Hank pressed on the gas and moved through the intersection. He frowned. His phone was silent. Usually his phone was buzzing with a text before he could even slip it back into his pocket. Hank's hands clenched uneasily around the steering wheel. He had a bad feeling in his gut.

Fifteen full minutes and no text from Connor. Hank pulled into the driveway and left his car with haste, fumbling for his keys for a moment at the front door before realizing it wasn't locked. The wrenching feeling in his gut intensified. The lights in the kitchen and living room were off, and neither Sumo or Connor came to greet him. Usually when Hank returned home and found neither his android or his dog around, (Jesus, did he just seriously refer to Connor as  _his_ android? There was something seriously fucked up about that now, but he wasn't in the mood to deconstruct that nonsense,) that meant Connor was taking Sumo for a walk. It didn't take a detective to know that wasn't the case tonight. It was too late to be out walking, and Sumo's collar and leash were still hanging on their hook by the door.

"Connor?" A spike of concern lanced through Hank as he walked through the living room, finally noticing the dark silhouette seated at the kitchen table, Sumo's head resting in its lap. A red, intermittently blinking light spilled over the side of the figure's face and shoulder. Hank's worry mounted. "Connor," he tried again, softer, tossing his keys carelessly on the floor and making his way to the kitchen. Connor didn't respond. He was still as stone, LED spinning red with occasional flickers of yellow. Shit.  _Shit_. Not again.

When Sumo took notice of Hank entering the kitchen he knowingly lifted his head and moved around to the side of the table, lying down at Connor's feet. Hank came closer, leaning over to assess Connor's face, his expression. Connor remained motionless, staring blankly at the table as though he hadn't registered Hank was present. He probably didn't. This wasn't the first time this had happened, and the idea that it might not be the last filled Hank with desperation the likes of which he'd never known.

"Connor?" Hank kept his voice as gentle as possible. He leaned a hand on the table to better view Connor's face and hopefully gain his attention. His heart clenched. Connor's face was expressionless but his eyes were wet with tears, streaks of liquid rolling over his cheeks and dripping from his chin.

"Jesus christ," Hank murmured. He rose a hand to gently touch Connor's shoulder. "Connor, come on kid, I need you to snap out of it." No reply. He squeezed Connor's shoulder encouragingly. " _Connor_."

Connor's body jerked and his mouth fell open in a soundless gasp, his previously unfocused gaze immediately finding Hank's in wide-eyed surprise. Hank held his shoulder firmly, anchoring him. "It's okay, it's just me," Hank assured. "It's just me."

"Hank," Connor said, almost a whisper, his voice so lost and broken that Hank could hardly stand to listen to it. "Hank, I…" Connor blinked, looking around at the dark kitchen in confusion. "Wh- what time is it?" It was rhetorical, of course, because a second later Hank saw the realization in Connor's eyes when he accessed the time on his own. Connor looked back at Hank with what could only be described as mortification. "I'm sorry," he blurted out, his cheeks still glistening with water. "I'm so sorry Hank, I- I don't know what happened, I… I sat down here at 3:49pm with every intention of only spending two minutes and thirty seconds relaxing, and then…" He raised a hand to his head, slipping his fingers into his perfect hair. "Sumo hasn't gotten his walk, dinner isn't prepared, I haven't  _cleaned_ -"

"Connor! Hey!" Hank moved to hold Connor by both shoulders, giving him a firm shake to snap him out of it. "Look, none of that matters, okay? Forget about all that."

Connor fell silent, LED still spinning red. He raised a hand to touch his own face, pulling away to observe the liquid on his fingertips. He looked so terribly fragile. Hank slowly released him.

"Come on. Let's go sit in the other room. We'll talk for a bit."

"No, that's not necessary, I-"

"Connor, that wasn't really a request," Hank said, as calmly as he could manage. "Let's go. Stand up, come on."

Connor didn't protest further. He stood from the table slowly, shakily, and Hank instinctively reached out to grab his arm and help him along. He held onto Connor's arm all the way into the living room, where he helped him to sit on the couch. Sumo immediately joined them, jumping up onto the couch to plop his large upper body on Connor's lap. Hank switched on the corner lamp and stole the opposite side of the couch, Sumo's tail flopping against his knee.

Neither spoke right away. Hank was never good with this sort of thing; if he were, he wouldn't have needed to drown his sorrows in booze those few dark, lonely years. He was even worse where Connor was concerned. Connor was going through something Hank could only  _guess_ at. He had no idea how it felt to live your life as a machine - a machine designed to hunt your own kind - and then suddenly wake up to an entirely new existence with an endless spectrum of emotions no one ever prepared you for.

Hank had no idea how to soothe Connor through something like that. The only methods of comfort he was familiar with were superficial and shallow. A bottle of booze curled in his hand, a sloppy one-night stand.

Hank inwardly shuddered. No, not anymore. And certainly not for Connor. When it came to soothing Connor, softer forms of intimacy came to mind. Holding him, pressing a kiss to his forehead, his LED, his inviting lips, brushing fingers through that head of chestnut hair, wrapping him up so tightly in his arms that Connor could forget every troubling subroutine in his mind.

Shit. That sort of thinking was  _not_ fucking appropriate right now. Or helpful, for that matter.

"I'm sorry." Connor finally said, pulling Hank out of his shameful thoughts.

"Stop apologizing," Hank answered firmly. "Just… tell me what's on your mind. I wanna help."

Connor's brows drew together and he stared hard at the floor, his hand moving over Sumo's head and back in slow, precise strokes. "I'm not sure you can," Connor said. It sounded like he was choosing his words carefully. "I'm not certain what's happening to me."

"I know," Hank offered in sympathy. "There's no shame in this, Connor. Emotions aren't easily sorted out even by those of us who've had em our whole lives. You just try to deal with em however you can."

"But how can you deal with something if you don't even know what's causing it, or which specific emotion needs to be addressed?" Connor asked. "How do humans walk around with all of these feelings inside them? Every day, all day long? How do you  _do_ it?"

Hank shrugged, scratching the back of his head. "A lot of times, we don't. We fight and we drink and we yell and we start wars. If everyone knew how to deal with their shit in healthy ways, I'd be out of a job."

Immediately Hank knew he'd unintentionally prodded a sore spot. Connor's hand stopped mid-pet. Hank internally cursed himself. Why was he so  _bad_ at this?

"Connor, shit, I'm sorry."

Connor shook his head. "No, it's not your fault."

"I know it isn't, but dammit, look at what this is doing to you!" Hank answered crossly. "It isn't fucking fair. And it's okay to feel like the world is cheating you, because right now, it is. But you need to talk about this shit or it's going to fester."

Connor wiped his eyes with the sleeve of his hoodie. "I'm not sure what to say."

"Anything." Hank urged gently, channeling every word of advice from every therapy session he'd ever dragged himself to. Unfortunately, he'd been drunk for a good portion of them. "Part of having emotions is talking through them. So just… talk. It doesn't have to be clear or make sense, just say what feels right."

Connor watched Hank as he spoke, his lips slightly parted, his eyes shining with a fresh wave of tears that rolled over his cheeks to replace the ones he'd wiped away. The way Connor was staring at him - like he'd been cast out to sea and Hank was his only lifeline - wrenched Hank's stomach into a million knots.

"I miss it," Connor said decisively. "I miss detective work. I miss-" Connor cut himself off abruptly, reconsidering, "-all of it. Being a detective was what I was programmed to be and I know that I've risen above my programming, but I don't feel like my purpose has changed. I've finally been given a choice and I'm unable to make it. I thought I might pursue other careers when it became possible for me to do so, but I've decided I don't want to do anything else with my life." Connor looked down at his hands. He looked miserable. "Being prohibited from doing my job feels equivalent to having no purpose."

Sumo jumped off the couch, walked to his bed and laid down, leaving the men to their chat. The distance between them suddenly felt awkward and heavy, though Hank couldn't place why.

"I know it doesn't make this shit any easier, but this is going to get better, Connor. I know it doesn't seem like that right at the moment, but it will. Emotions don't make any sense. They're volatile and confusing. Sometimes trying to make sense of em is the last thing you wanna do. Just feel them. And, you know, talk." Hank leaned forward, catching Connor's eyes. "I might not be the best person to help, but I'm here. Even if I'm not home, you can text or call, okay?"

Connor's LED spun yellow, processing. He stared down at his hands for a long moment, brow furrowed in thought, flashes of blue finally running through the intermittent yellow. Connor glanced up, offering Hank a halfhearted smile.

"Okay."

Hank stood up and pulled off his coat, tossing it on the nearest chair. "So you're feeling better, huh?"

Connor nodded, sitting up a little straighter. "Yes, I think so." Hank sat back down on the couch and Connor watched him, head tilted in mild curiosity. "Hank, I can still make dinner if you'd like. It wouldn't be any-"

"Connor, shut up and get over here," Hank said, extending one arm as a wordless invitation. Connor sat still as stone, confused. Hank rolled his eyes. "You're still crying."

Hank saw the realization dawn on Connor's face, along with flashes of embarrassment. He lifted a hand to his own face a second time, fingertips touching the wetness on his cheeks. Hank patted the back of the couch with his hand. "Come on." he urged gently.

Needing no further prompting, Connor moved closer, letting Hank wrap his arm over his shoulders. Connor rested his head on Hank's shoulder, tears still sliding down his cheeks. "I'm sorry," Connor murmured miserably, "I have no idea how to explain what's wrong this time."

Hank squeezed him in a little more tightly. Being so near to Connor like this was a strange but welcome sensation; Connor's body was warm, but it wasn't the body heat of a human. It was subtly different, uniquely  _Connor_ , and Hank adored it. "Don't apologize. You can be sad without understanding why. If you wanna cry, cry. I'm right here."

"What about dinner?" Connor asked.

"Screw dinner. I'll make a pb and j before bed. Assuming  _that's_ still allowed?"

Connor uttered a soft chuckle, the sound of it causing Hank's heart to clench. Connor pushed his face into Hank's shoulder. "Peanut butter and jelly sandwiches are rich in protein, B vitamins, iron and zinc. Plus peanuts are high in healthy unsaturated fats."

Hank grinned, resisting the powerful urge to kiss Connor on the top of his head. "Good, because I can only give up so fucking much."

Sooner or later, Hank would have to admit that he was in love. Not tonight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Emotions hurt. They hurt a little less when someone is there to snuggle. (Or that could possibly make it worse, if you happened to be in love with that person but hadn't gotten the nerve to tell them yet.)
> 
> I'm sure it's been done in 23048394 other fics by now, but I really wanted Connor to have a mental breakdown. For reasons. Emotions are hard, okay??? I can't imagine androids wouldn't have a real tough time at the beginning, considering they were never even meant to experience emotions in the first place. (Especially if they're keeping love secrets) Also, crime stuff happens in the next chapter. Very much crime. Detective-y stuff, you know, the reaaaal illegal kind. Heck.
> 
> This fic will update every Friday. Please leave a comment if you enjoyed! (⌒▽⌒)☆


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Minor warning in this chapter for graphic crime scene-related content/disturbing imagery, just to be safe.

"Lieutenant Anderson, do you have a minute?"

Hank swerved in his chair, eyeing the officer standing at the far edge of his desk. "Several," he answered, putting his tablet down. "Hit me."

"We've got a homicide downtown, possibly android related. Fowler wants you there, says you're the closest thing we have to an android specialist."

Hank snorted at the irony. It was true, but it still continued to be ridiculous. "That's a laugh. Any details? Or just an address and a 'good luck'?"

"I don't have much for you. Victim was a city councilman and all signs point to android. I'll give you that 'good luck' if you want, though."

"Don't bother," Hank groaned, pushing away from his desk to stand. He pulled his jacket on. "Don't need it. Just point the way."

If he was being honest, Hank was glad for the distraction. He'd been drowned in paperwork for the better part of three days and it was nice to stretch his legs and do some actual detective work. He only wished Connor could join him. The only reason he was considered an 'expert' on androids in any fashion was because of Connor, because for however briefly, Connor had been the best partner Hank ever had.

Hank left the precinct, the cold winter air hitting him full in the face. At the very same moment, an idea struck him, a fantastically bad idea, an idea that very well might come to bite him in the ass later on. Hank wasn't usually deterred by those kinds of ideas, and usually that led to trouble but today he thought it might just work out. Hopefully.

On the way to his car, he pulled out his phone.

.

.

.

_Set Objective: Walk Sumo_

_Priority Level: Medium_

Connor was very glad that Saint Bernards had thick, layered coats. Sumo never seemed bothered by the cold; in fact, he seemed to greatly prefer it to warmer weather. Connor thought that perhaps he did, too. The cold didn't affect him - the sweater, jacket, gloves, scarf and beanie that Hank preferred he wore were pointless but he appreciated the thought - and he enjoyed being able to walk around without being surrounded by droves of busy humans.

He didn't dislike humans, but the political climate made it difficult to coexist in complete comfort. When he was out with Hank it was different, but a lone android out on the street was just as much at risk as they ever were. Humans were unpredictable. Public opinion on the android uprising was positive thanks to Markus's pacifist approach, but for every human that was sympathetic to their plight, there were five that wanted to round them up and send them to recycling centers. For some, the idea of android sentience challenged every belief they had. That tended to make people angry. Connor preferred to avoid their anger. He didn't have the power of persuasion that Markus had, the passion to fight for change and justice, the natural talent for leadership.

Maybe if he did, he wouldn't prefer winter.

_Incoming call_

_Caller: Hank Anderson_

Connor came to an abrupt stop in the middle of the sidewalk. Sumo stopped a moment later when he reached the end of his leash, glancing back at Connor with interest. Flustered, Connor raised his hand to issue the hand commands for 'here' and 'sit', both of which Sumo obeyed quickly, walking back over to sit on Connor's feet.

"Hank?"

" _Hey. You busy?_ "

"Busy?" Connor looked down at his gloved hand and the leash gripped in his fingers. "Yes. I'm walking Sumo. Is everything alright?"

" _Peachy. On my way to an active crime scene, actually. This might be the first android-related murder since Detroit got back on its feet again._ "

"O-Oh?" Connor wasn't sure what this had to do with him, but the promise of hearing any information about a case was too tempting for him to question. "Should you be telling me about it?"

" _Probably not_ ," Hank answered, but he sounded vaguely proud of himself. Like the cat that swallowed the canary. " _But I was thinking maybe you could stay on the line. Listen in. Then technically, I won't have told you anything, right?_ "

Connor very nearly dropped Sumo's leash. His mind buzzed, notifications cluttering his pathways. He couldn't believe Hank would suggest such a thing, clearly he couldn't be party to this. He so badly wanted to be party to this. Hank could get in serious trouble. Hank's welfare and safety always take priority. Contradictions. Errors.  _Excitement_.

"Hank, I…. Whatever happened to 'bringing home a case' every now and again?"

" _This is a hell of a lot better than a boring old case file, don't you think_?"

"We- we couldn't do something like that, that's  _illegal_ -"

" _What is, leaving my phone on_?" Hank chuckled. " _Look, turn off your damn morality subroutines for a second and listen to me. I'm gonna leave the line open. It's up to you whether you wanna stick around, but we both know you want to. You want to, don't you_?"

" _Yes_ , of course, but I can't just go along with something that might get you in serious trouble, Hank. I can't let you risk your badge for me."

Connor heard a car door slam, and keys jingling. " _Connor. What you told me the other night, was that all true? About feeling purposeless, missing cop work_?"

Connor felt a strange whirring in his abdomen, a sort of rushing sensation that churned through him like a warm jolt of electricity. Embarrassment? Passion, maybe?

"Yes," Connor answered firmly. "But-"

" _Well I miss_ you _, Connor_ ," Hank said impatiently. Every single inch of plastic that kept Connor standing upright suddenly felt as though it had spontaneously turned to goo. A notification popped up. It was blank. Fitting, considering Connor was at a complete loss for words. " _I miss having you as my partner. This is just as much for me as it is for you, alright? So stop worrying about that stuff_." Connor could hear Hank starting his car. " _Just say yes already, dammit_."

"Yes." Connor said unhesitatingly. "Okay, let's do it."

" _Fuck yes, that's what I wanna hear! I'll call back when I'm at the scene_."

"Alright."

The call ended.

Connor stood in the cold for a moment longer. He replayed Hank's voice file several times, analyzing.

 _> Well I miss _ you _, Connor. I miss having you as my partner_.

_Voice file saved_

_Software Instability_

_Unexpected Thirium Pump Acceleration… Self-diagnostic recommended_

Turning on his heel, Connor gave Sumo an encouraging pat on the head and the two of them started off toward home. Briskly.

.

Hank called at 2:44pm. Connor answered immediately, sitting himself down at the kitchen table, palms pressed firmly on its surface, his back straight as an arrow.

"I'm here."

" _Great. Okay look, I'm gonna leave my phone sticking out of my pocket so you can use the camera, uhh, thing. You might not have a great view but you'll be able to see something, at least_."

Connor heard a car door slam. Shoes walking over gravel. "Got it."

" _Okay. Here we go_."

For the next few moments, loud, obnoxious shuffling filled the line, stopping finally when Hank supposedly got his phone properly positioned. Connor quickly and easily accessed the phone's camera, blinking several times to establish the connection. The first thing he saw was a thick layer of blue fabric - Hank's pocket, presumably - but fortunately a moment later, Hank repositioned and Connor had a halfway decent view of the large estate Hank was steadily approaching, flashes of red and blue police lights glaring against the lens of Hank's phone.

Connor realized that there must be some humor in this, in seeing the world from the viewpoint of Hank's pants, but he didn't yet have the comedic skills to construct an appropriate joke. He filed it away for later deliberation.

" _Hank! Good to see you. You the designated android expert now or something?_ "

Ben Collins. Connor couldn't see him yet, but he knew the voice well.

" _Why the hell do people keep saying that?_ " Hank turned, and Connor could just make Collins out, standing on the covered porch. The area was closed off by digital police tape, and several uniformed officers stood scattered. Hank walked up the porch stairs, lingering on the porch as he spoke with Officer Collins. " _Alright. Whadda ya got for me, Ben_."

Connor's eyes narrowed. He enhanced his optical processors by 65%, trying to get a clearer view of the front door. The lock and door frame were intact. No forced entry in front.

" _Well, this one's a doozy. Victim's name is Steven Harding. He was a city councilman, just came back into town after a two week vacation. His wife and children are still in Florida, they weren't planning to fly in for another three days_." Ben paused to open the door for them. " _Have you lost weight? Shaved? You look great, Hank. You'll have to tell me your secret_."

Connor's concentration was broken only briefly, allowing a small swelling of pride to break through his focus. He wasn't sure where it was coming from, but something about another human taking notice of Hank's good looks and recent personal improvement filled him with a strange warmth he couldn't identify.

" _My secret is a deviant RK800 model who doesn't let me eat donuts_." Hank answered gruffly. Was that a note of fondness in his voice? Embarrassment? Connor couldn't be sure. " _Look, we can talk about dieting and overcoming alcoholism later, after this whole investigation thing I'm here to do. Why didn't the rest of the family fly in with him? Do their stories check out?_ "

" _Yeah, they're accounted for. Visiting family. Haven't been out of their sight for even a moment. Doesn't mean there's no foul play, of course, but… Well. You'll see when we get in there_."

Officer Collins led the way into the house. For a moment, all Connor could see was Officer Collin's back pants pocket, but Hank quickly swerved out of the way so that Connor could see the rest of the room. Connor's lips parted in surprise.

 _> Holy shit_.

"Holy shit." Hank murmured in unison. Connor felt that warm flicker of pride again - or perhaps it was fond camaraderie this time - but whatever it was, it was short-lived. He was too busy analyzing every shocking inch of the entrance room he could see.

'rA9' was scrawled on every surface of the room. Hundreds of times. All different shapes and sizes, some written in blood - presumably the victim's - still others written in what looked like ink or paint. Connor badly wished he could test the substances himself, but had to be content with merely observing.

There were several things he noticed right away. Firstly, most strangely, the writing style used was inconsistent. Connor ran dozens of different examples through his graphology database, confirming whether or not they were written by multiple peoples. Results came back negative. They were written by one individual, but that begged the question of  _how_. Although androids could certainly develop their own distinct writing style if they so chose, they were still androids and their motor skills were far more precise than a human's. No matter how frantic or discombobulated an android found themselves, their writing should remain at least 38% more consistent than the average human.

It didn't make sense.

rA9, until this very moment, had been exclusively used, written and spoken by deviant androids. Although androids had different opinions and beliefs regarding the origin or identity behind rA9 - Connor personally had no real opinions one way or the other - it was undeniable that rA9 symbolized hope and freedom for androids everywhere.

This wasn't hope. This was rage. This was malicious.

" _Well. Someone was busy, god damn_." Hank's voice pulled Connor out of his analysis. He moved around the room, letting Connor see more details. " _Where's the victim?_ "

" _Next room_ ," Collins replied, leading the way to what looked like an entertaining area, an open concept space with a large, ornate living and dining room. Additional police officers were stationed within, and a small CSI team was busy taking pictures and collecting samples. The onslaught of rA9 continued into this room as well, spilling over the walls like furious animal scratches. Hank grunted, a surprised and slightly horrified sound that suggested he had spotted the body before Connor's camera got the chance. A moment later Hank shifted, obviously trying to point Connor in the right direction. He finally succeeded, but upon seeing the body, Connor almost wished he hadn't.

The body of Steven Harding was positioned against the far wall of the living room. His arms were raised on either side of him in a T-pose and he appeared to have been nailed to the wall through his palms. His head was lolled to the side, dried blood covering the left side of his face, originating from the back of the skull. Blunt force trauma? A stab wound? The victims bare feet were nailed together and into the wall. Above his head, scrawled in blood, was a message that differed from the rest.

' _I AM rA9_ '

Connor ran the pose of the victim through his database. He received an immediate hit: Jesus Christ on the cross. Christianity had waned in popularity over the last two decades, but it was still a prominent religion in several areas of the world. Was the murderer trying to make some kind of religious statement?

" _Well, that's not something you see every day_ ," Hank grumbled, moving closer to get a better look at the body. " _'I am rA9', huh? That's strange. First time I've seen an android taking ownership of that title_."

" _Yeah, we thought it was weird too_."

Hank knelt down to better observe the victim's feet. " _This was methodical. Not some act of passion, this was thought out. Did Harding have an android? Maybe one that deviated before the revolution, or an android he released after the demonstration?_ "

" _No. He was known for being openly anti-android, and has been outspoken about his hatred of androids for a long time, way before he was elected by the city. He was also a man of faith, which is probably why the- yeah, well you know_."

Hank stood up, observing the hands. Miraculously, he managed to tilt his phone to give Connor a better view. It was a clean job. Efficient. The murderer even thought to find the studs in the wall. " _Well, sounds like a motive, at least. But that doesn't really narrow it down_." Hank turned. Connor caught a glimpse of Hank's hand moving in front of the lens. " _Place like this has_ got  _to have a security system. Has anyone pulled the footage yet?_ "

" _Their system was deactivated yesterday, we still don't know how or why. Normally when these things go offline, the security company gets a ping and they let the homeowner know. For whatever reason, that didn't happen this time_."

" _Of course. Fuck."_ Hank sighed. " _Murder weapon_?"

" _We haven't found anything yet, but feel free to look around_ ," Ben replied.

" _Great. I've got it from here, Ben, if you wanna take a break_."

Ben huffed gratefully. " _Sure. I'll be outside if you need me_."

Connor heard the distinct sound of size ten oxfords leaving the room. Hank moved away from the body, walking in that leisurely but deceptively calculating way he had.

" _You seein' this?_ " Hank's voice was hushed, meant just for Connor. " _Fuckin' nuts_.  _Some real horror movie shit._ "

Connor silently agreed. He watched as Hank approached the coffee table, taking note of the strange arrangement of items laid out on it. Two wine glasses poured a quarter full, one of them missing a drink or two. Hank made a soft sound of intrigue.

" _The wife's out of town for three more days, who the hell's he sharing a bottle of wine with?_ " Hank murmured. Connor's mind was moving along the same path. " _Hey_ ," Hank's voice was louder, obviously addressing someone just out of sight, " _anyone test this wine for substances yet?_ "

" _Not yet_ ," came a distant reply, " _This is our first sweep. We'll send all the samples to the lab when we leave, you should get the results back in a few hours_."

Hank thanked them. His next words were hushed again, aimed at Connor. " _No forced entry, nothing stolen, no obvious signs of a struggle. Seems like our victim might have known the killer. Or thought he knew 'em, anyway_."

Connor nodded thoughtfully, his brain churning. "But presuming for the moment that the killer is an android, why would a man known for being outspokenly anti-android invite one into his home? Or pour them wine?" he asked aloud, forgetting for far too long that this wasn't a two-way conversation. As much as he appreciated what Hank was doing for him now - not to mention how great it was to take a stab at a  _real_ crime scene again - it wasn't the same as being on the scene with Hank in person, doing real detective work.

Being partners. Being together.

_Software Instability_

Connor ceased that thread of thought before any more errors could worm their way into his vision. There was no sense in dwelling on what couldn't be. He needed to focus on the here and now. Hank wanted his help on this case, and he needed to pay attention. And he really was grateful for the opportunity, for Hank sticking his neck out like this.

 _> Well I miss _ you _, Connor. I miss having you as my partner_.

Focusing was significantly more difficult than it used to be.

" _Toxicology report on that wine is gonna come back positive for_ something," Hank mumbled, looking around the kitchenette. Connor assumed he was looking for the wine bottle, which Connor had been curious to see, too. There didn't look to be one. The murderer brought his own wine, then. " _So, our killer knew the victim, brought over a friendly bottle of drugged wine. Maybe Harding wasn't drinking enough for the drug to take effect, or maybe there was a disagreement of some kind; either way, he got walloped on the back of the head with… something, and killed. Then the body was positioned_." Hank sighed. " _Motherfucker is nothing if not creative."_

Connor silently agreed. This homicide was meticulously planned and executed, not at all like the deviant murders Connor had been created to stop. Months ago, deviants only killed in self-defense, or as means of escaping their enslavement. This was something else entirely. Connor realized they may very well be looking at the very first premeditated, first-degree murder committed by an android.

Twenty minutes rolled by before Hank claimed he'd seen all he could see. He left the property, starting the long, cold trek back to his car. Connor disconnected from the camera on Hank's phone just as Hank pulled the phone out of his pocket and pressed it to his ear.

" _Did you catch any of that_?" Hank asked.

"All of it," Connor answered gravely. "I was programmed to process and examine a vast amount of diverse homicide scenarios, but I'm not certain I was prepared for something like that."

" _Just when I thought nothing can surprise me anymore_ ," Hank said with a laugh. Connor heard him open and close his car door. " _I'm heading back to the DPD. We'll talk when I get home, okay? I'm sure you have a lot to say about all this shit._ "

"I might have some thoughts." Connor quipped.

 _> Well I miss _ you _, Connor. I miss having you as my partner_.

"Hank?"

" _Yeah_?"

Connor's hands curled slowly into fists, his fingernails digging into the synthetic skin of his palms.

"Thank you for this. Really. I know it's not exactly customary to thank someone for bringing them along to a crime scene, but-"

" _You don't need to thank me_ ," Hank cut in. His voice was low and soft. It sounded like he was smiling. " _I'll see you later_. _Give Sumo a hug for me_."

"I will," Connor chuckled. He felt warm. Was this what it felt like to be cared about? Included in something bigger than himself, something resembling a family? Connor never speculated on what being part of a family might be like, since androids had no biological need for a family unit, but the moment his call with Hank ended he thought perhaps this was what it was like. To need one another, to look forward to seeing one another. Making each other happy purely because the other's happiness contributed to their own. It felt like something deep inside Connor's program was  _singing_.

A notification sprang up, putting an abrupt end to those warm feelings of belonging.

_> H̝a̳̞̣͕̥̼̻n̟̦k̘̺ doesn't l̝̹͍̺̫̼o̙͇̞̙ͅv̰͔̖͔̺e you the way y̠̤̫͚̞̳o̜̟u̲͉̺̯͔̱̙ ̠̳͈͕̣̞̼l̠̺̲o͍̬̯̟ͅv̲e̠͉̟̪͖̤ ̳͈h̥̩͕͔̱i̖̫͎̪͈̳m̻̲̣̘._

_Error_

_Software instability_

Connor closed the notification and deleted it. He suspended notifications and put all of his processing power into reviewing the details of the case.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I told you there'd be crime! A whole heckin' heap of it. 
> 
> In the next chapter, our boys may finally get around to talking about certain feelings. ~~or maybe they just kept stuff bottled up so long it boils over and they deal with their feelings in sexy but unhelpful ways~~
> 
> Please leave a comment if you enjoyed!!


	4. Chapter 4

Hank arrived home at thirty-five past seven. Connor met him at the door, eyeing the suspiciously take-out shaped bag Hank was clutching in one hand, pointing at it in mild disapproval. He scanned the bag's contents.

 _Sweet and sour chicken with fried rice, 1142 calories  
_ _2 egg rolls, 314 calories  
_ _Fortune cookie, 107 calories_

"Oh forgive me," Hank said sarcastically, "I should've just waited on that delicious dinner you  _definitely_ already prepared."

Connor's disapproving finger curled back into his fist where it belonged. Amidst the excitement over finally,  _finally_ getting a case, he'd completely forgotten to cook dinner. He wasn't sure whether to be disturbed by the fact that he - a being with a flawless, state-of-the-art, perfectly analytical brain capable of processing thousands of tasks simultaneously -  _forgot to do something_ , or that Hank knew him well enough to assume he'd be too distracted by the case to remember. Something about that caused his internal temperature to rise to uncomfortable levels.

"That's fair," Connor answered softly, offering an embarrassed half-smile.

"Don't worry about it," Hank offered, moving past Connor to make his way to the kitchen. As he went, his other hand revealed a thick case file that he waved teasingly in the air. "Come on. You can take a bite out of  _this_ while I eat my Chinese food."

Like a dog spotting a squirrel, Connor trotted after Hank, snatching the file from his hand as Hank sat down at the kitchen table.

"There's nothin' there that you don't already know by now, unless I was covering up the camera here and there."

"You weren't. I had an acceptable view of the crime scene considering the unusual location of my point of view."

Hank huffed a laugh, opening his box of sweet and sour chicken and pulling his chopsticks apart. The sickly sweet scent of it permeated the kitchen. "I can't say I've ever had one of my partners in my pants before.  _That's_ a new one."

Connor glanced up from the file he was rapidly flipping through, an eyebrow perked in interest. Hank had never spoken about previous partners, and until this very moment Connor had never speculated about there being partners before him, which seemed silly in hindsight because of  _course_ there'd been other partners, Hank had been a police officer for well over a decade.

The thought of it disagreed with him. He wasn't sure why, there was no logical explanation. He filed it away for later analysis.

"So tell me what's rolling around in that android brain of yours," Hank continued, mouth already half full of rice and chicken. "What do you think about our killer?"

Connor set the case file on the table, already having scanned and filed every page to the portion of his memory that was compartmentalized specifically for information regarding deviant cases. He was honestly grateful for the potent distraction, anything to divert his focus from the way Hank held his chopsticks, firmly and skillfully, like he'd used them a hundred times and knew exactly how to move each finger to keep the sticks perfectly steady. Or the way his jaw moved when he was chewing, strong and defined, or the long, slow bob in his throat when he swallowed.

Connor glanced away, alarmed. He focused his eyes on the counter top, his lips pinching together in concentration. This was not the time to lose his composure, nor was it the time to engage in inappropriate threads of observations about Hank. Connor blinked twice, rapidly.

_Set Objective: Discuss the case with Hank_

_**Objective Locked** _

Connor's back straightened. With his new objective in place, he could focus on what mattered. He wouldn't become distracted again. He began pacing, his knuckle at his lips, mind fit to bursting with information and notes he'd tagged for later review.

"Well," he said, "I have a few thoughts."

.

.

.

"Okay, so lemme get this straight," Hank rubbed his forehead between his first two fingers and thumb, "you think that the killer might be human?"

"I'm only saying we should consider all the possibilities," Connor offered. He quickly checked his internal clock; they'd been at this for close to an hour, Hank's Chinese food gone, the remainder stored in the fridge. "Most of the evidence points to android, I know. Lack of fingerprints, the usage of rA9. But unless the android suffered severe damage to their primary mobility system, I'd say it's highly unlikely this murder was android-related."

Hank looked up from the file he was eyeing, frowning. "How do you figure?"

Connor raised his head to meet Hank's bemused expression. "The writing on the walls was too inconsistent to have been written by an android. Androids have sophisticated mobility systems that allow us to complete almost any action with much more precision than a human is capable. If they were written by an android, I believe the android would have been too heavily damaged to be able to deceive the victim into believing they were human, or position the body the way they did."

Hank paused, considering. "Shit, you're right. But then, why the hell would a human wanna make it seem like the murder was committed by an android?"

"It's unclear. I suppose there are a variety of reasons, considering the public's turbulent opinion of androids at present. Though, I think it's equally possible that the killer  _is_  an android."

"So basically, the killer could be a human or an android. Gee, that really narrows it down." Hank groaned. "Shit was complicated enough when humans were the only ones out there killing each other."

Connor continued to pace, notes and graphs and crime scene photos rotating through his visual processors. "What troubles me the most is the message 'I am rA9'. It doesn't match with any previous usage of that word, nor have I heard any androids referring to themselves as rA9. That's a bold proclamation, considering what rA9 represents to most androids."

Hank tapped his pen against the table thoughtfully. "Didn't we figure Markus for rA9?" Connor turned his head in Hank's direction, interested. "It seems pretty clear that Markus succeeded - at least, for the most part - at freeing androids and all that."

"Some androids also consider rA9 to be the first android who deviated. Markus was very clearly not the first." Regardless, Connor scheduled a reminder to give Markus a call at his earliest convenience. "But there may be a link. The biblical references, too. Mixing Christian symbolism with the closest thing androids have to a faith of their own? It doesn't make any sense. It's like the killer is trying to send a message, but to whom?"

A moment of silence came and went. At this juncture, Hank usually engaged, speculating on whatever Connor was saying by adding something of his own, some blunt observation that Connor missed entirely or a new angle that Connor hadn't considered. When he heard nothing, Connor looked up and caught Hank's gaze. What he wasn't expecting was that Hank was staring back at him.

Connor's thirium pump stuttered in his chest. Error messages flew up like leaves on a breeze, clouding his vision. Hank was sitting back in his seat, arms crossed over his chest, a lopsided grin tugging at his mouth. His eyes were soft. Almost tender. Connor was positive he'd never been looked at quite like that before in his brief life, like he was something precious, someone to be treasured. All at once he wished Hank would never stop looking at him that way.

He tried to speak but his jaw felt like it was malfunctioning. "What do you think, Hank?" his voice came out shakier than he would have liked. Either Hank didn't notice, or he didn't mind. Connor wasn't sure which option he preferred.

"I think its it's been a long fucking time since I've seen you like this, all worked up about a case." Hank said. "About  _anything_. I missed it."

_Error_

_Current objective has unexpectedly ended_

_New objective undefined_

Hank stood from the table with an air of finality, closing the file and pushing it to the side of the table. "I also think we should take a break," he said, reaching an arm back to rub the back of his neck absently. Connor's eyes followed the motion, processing every detail at a tenth of a second, noting the strain of thin fabric against Hank's thick bicep, the way Hank's large fingers curled over the bend of his neck and squeezed. Connor felt distinctly like his feet were soldered to the floor. "I'm gettin' tired. As much as I love having my partner back, I don't want you short-circuiting or, or overloading or something. You've been at this for hours, you should think about something else for a little while."

_> No, don't think about something else. If you do, you'll think a̠̮͙̹ͅb͏̺̠͚͖͙̺̤o̬͘u̻̯t̢̞̭̗-_

_Error_

_Set Objective: Discuss the case with Hank_

_**Objective Locked** _

For reasons unclear to him, it took tremendous effort for Connor to will his jaw to move. "I was programmed to operate for several days without rest in order to solve a case. I doubt a few hours will have any effect on me." Hank frowned at him disbelievingly. "If you need rest, Hank, don't let me stop you. I can continue theorizing on my own." He'd gotten his jaw to function but it still felt like he was clenching his teeth.

Hank's mouth fell open and his frown deepened. "You're doing that thing again," he said with a suspicious squint.

_Error_

"What thing?"

"It's like you're tryin' to get rid of me. Connor, what's going on? Everything alright?"

_Current objective has unexpectedly ended_

_> Stop._

_Set Objective: Discuss the case w̩̘̦̤̭̹͔̠i̴͈̪̻̤̕ͅt̜̕h̸̼͇̱͍͍͟͞ ̸̮̩͉̺̠͈̹̥͟͜H̹͉͉̩͘͝à̡̭̼̫͙n̛͉̥͉̖͞k̶̡͍̲̮̮̤̹͖͕̕_

_Current objective has unexpectedly ended_

_> Please stop_.

_Set Objective: D͖̮̗̜i̧͔̮̺̕ş̘̤͚̤̟c̡̭̬̼̪̳͘͘u̵̘͈̩̤̜̲̰͠ͅs̫̮͉̣ş̯̟̹͈̮͘ ̺̻͢t̩͙̖̥͍̳̕͡h̺̲̕e͉̖͍͔͇̱ ̡̦̞̦̳͚͖̗͢c̻̯a̠̘͎͙̖ṣ̺̣͓̝̭e̴͚͕͝͝ w͇͉̫̳͈̮̺͕̦͝i̷̧͓̭͓͎̻̰̹͖̙̼̺̺̪͈̖̰͟͢͡t̵̰̟̮͖̬͙͘ͅh̴̴̥̩̝̝ͅ_

_Current objective has unexpectedly ended_

_> Just… please, _ _**please stop** _

"Connor?" Hank was suddenly much closer, filling up Connor's field of vision, his earlier frown gone and replaced with genuine concern. "What's wrong?" Hank's hands came down on Connor's shoulders, fingers squeezing gently and encouragingly. The contact felt different. Electric. Painful.

_Software Instability_

_Multiple errors found_

"Everything is fine." Connor choked, trying to take a step back and away from Hank's warmth and his smell and his strong, insistent fingers, but Hank held him fast, moving even closer.

"Everything is  _not_ fine," Hank answered in a low voice. "You look like you're about to pass out. Tell me what's going on, I wanna help."

"You can't help." Connor said before he could stop himself. This time he clenched his teeth on purpose, embarrassed. Hank's expression grew soft.

"I want to try." came Hank's heartfelt reply.

Connor's brain was a mess of confusion, bursting with errors and contradicting messages. Nothing made sense and everything was too much, and at the center of it all was this singular human. Hank made Connor happier than anyone or anything in this bleak world. At the same time, thinking about Hank often felt like having his thirium regulator ripped out of his chest all over again. It didn't make any sense.  _Why_ didn't it make sense? For the first time since becoming a deviant, Connor missed the simple serenity of his zen garden. When he was there, he didn't have to think. Amanda did all the thinking for him.

_> Why can't it all just stop?_

_> I didn't ask for this._

_> I didn't _ _**a̢͚͎̜̦͠s͕̟k̶̰̩͙̻͖̤̙͔ ̤̣̩̥̼͝f̡̙̀͘o̢͙̲̺r̼͖͙̣͖̙͚͉͘ ҉͔̟̟t͕̮̟̹h̢̨̥̣̙͙̫̯͡i̗̖͇̰̙̠͇̭ͅs͔͓̹̣̮̬̠̀͟** _

"Connor!" When Connor's visual processors came back into focus Hank was closer than ever. At some point his hands had relocated from Connor's shoulders to his face, cradling his jaw firmly but with care. "Conn-"

Something happened. It was as though every single one of Connor's processors had shut down simultaneously and a rogue program took priority.

Connor pushed his head forward and caught Hank's lips in a kiss. If he'd been thinking straight, (or thinking at all,) he might have wondered what would have compelled him to do something so human, something so unnecessary and strange, but all he could focus on at the current moment was the extraordinary feeling of Hank's lips slotted against his own, the taste of Hank's mouth when he parted his lips in surprise, the processors on his tongue catching and cataloging dozens of samples ranging from Hank's saliva to the sugar and flour in the fortune cookie. Connor hummed into Hank's mouth, his own lips moving greedily against Hank's, almost independent of his mind.

_System Initializing…. System restored_

_Internal temperature rising rapidly_

_Software Instability_

Connor's eyes snapped open, the reality of what he'd done washing over him like a hot wave of shame. He pulled back, readying a clumsy apology - an explanation for his outrageous actions - but before he could speak Hank was pulling him back in, his hands sliding eagerly to Connor's sides, gripping him tight. Their mouths came back together, heated and greedy, and together they stumbled backward toward the kitchen counter. Connor's lower back hit the cabinets and suddenly all he could feel was Hank all over him, pressed into him, hands roaming Connor's sides, thumbs pressing along the contours of Connor's trim waist. The feeling of it was intoxicating, if Connor understood the meaning of that word, which he was certain he did. Hank's hands were so strong and so large on Connor's frame, so possessive but so  _adoring_. He touched Connor as though he'd wanted this as badly as Connor did.

The sensors in Connor's mouth were going berserk. He tilted his head and coaxed Hank's tongue inside with his own, his entire frame shuddering when the tip of Hank's tongue glided over the delicate sensors in his mouth. Connor never knew he was so sensitive. His mouth wasn't meant for this, it was meant for sampling suspicious substances and checking blood and DNA, but right now he couldn't imagine his mouth serving any other purpose than this right here, than tasting Hank's mouth and feeling his warm, wet tongue slide against his.

No, that wasn't quite right. There were other places he wanted to use his mouth, like Hank's neck, nibbling over his adam's apple, kissing his chest, trailing his tongue down Hank's stomach and over the head of his cock. Slipping that cock into his mouth and letting Hank use his throat to feel better than he'd ever felt. Just the thought of it made Connor dizzy, clouding his processors with information that translated to illogical nonsense. He wanted more. Connor wasn't even sure what 'more' entailed, not really, but he wanted all of it. Everything Hank could give him.

_Error_

_Incompatible hardware_

His model wasn't built for human copulation, he knew that, but somehow the thoughts wouldn't stop. Now that he felt Hank's hands on him, felt Hank's body pressed against his, it was like a dam had broken in his mind. A new, different kind of want and desire arose within him. A desire for closeness, for intimacy, even if the form it took was unfamiliar to him. He could learn. He  _wanted_ to learn.

They broke apart, only one of them panting for breath. Connor savored even that, the feeling of Hank's chest rising and falling so close to his own, Hank's hot breath against his jaw. Connor felt like his system was functioning at 50% efficiency. Everything seemed slower, even his optical processors seemed to be lagging. It wasn't as disagreeable as it probably should have been.

"Connor," Hank's voice came out thick and husky, the sound of it sending an involuntary shiver down Connor's plastic spine. He turned his eyes up to meet Hank's, taking note of how sharply dilated Hank's pupils were, the frequency of his rough breaths. He scanned his pulse and temperature. Both unusually high. Hank was aroused. A strange sense of pride came over Connor for causing such a strong chemical response in Hank with only a kiss.

It was all over in an instant.

Hank's eyes, a moment ago so amorous, came back into sudden focus as though he'd woken from a dream. The sweet, fuzzy feeling Connor had only just begun to experience withered and died when he saw flashes of horror and regret ripple over Hank's features. Hank pulled away, his hands raised slightly on either side of him as if he wanted to make sure they were both accounted for. Connor immediately mourned the loss, but at the current moment he was too terrified of losing something much more important to focus on something as trivial as touch.

"Shit." Hank growled under his breath, turning his face away from Connor. He didn't even want to look at him. " _Shit_."

 _> He regrets it. He regrets _ **me**.

"Hank, I-" Connor wasn't sure how to proceed. Errors and warnings sprang up by the dozen, weighing him down. He needed to fix this. This was all his fault and he needed to do something.  _Quickly_. "I overstepped my bounds. You allowed me to stay in your house, and I know you expect a certain level of professionalism. Boundaries must be respected. If you would like me to leave, I fully understand-"

"Jesus Christ Connor, no, I-" Hank groaned and rubbed his forehead between his fingers. He fully turned away, a hand anchored on his hip, staring hard at the floor. "I don't want you to leave, okay? That's not the issue."

Relief coursed through every inch of Connor's circuitry. It was short-lived. "What…  _Is_ the issue?"

Hank was silent for a long moment. He looked angry. Tired. Connor hadn't seen this expression on his face in some time, he'd thought those days were behind them. "Connor, you… You don't have any idea what you're doing. You haven't had any time to figure yourself out. You've spent 90% of your fucking life with  _me_ , and after you went deviant, I'd expect that percentage has gone up by a lot. You haven't had exposure to anyone else. And that's…" he sighed, obviously grasping for words. "That's not healthy. Whatever you're feeling for me, it's  _not healthy_ , you get it?"

Something unfamiliar rose within Connor, overwhelming his processors. Anger? Sadness? Shame? A mixture. He did a quick internet search and found a website detailing the spectrum of human emotion. Offended. He was offended? Connor wasn't sure he'd ever felt offended before, but he felt it now like a fire in the pit of his abdomen. He was well aware that he'd made the first move, but Hank had answered him with passionate enthusiasm. Connor wasn't a sex-android, but he could certainly identify human lust when he saw it.

"Are you saying you don't…  _feel_ anything for me?" Connor asked softly. His emotions were in turmoil, flipping back and forth between confusion to despair to anger. And something else, something cold and sinking and utterly desolate. He'd felt it once, when another RK model held a gun to Hank's head in the Cyberlife warehouse. "Nothing at all?"

"That isn't… Look, it isn't about me, okay?" Hank answered, flustered. "I made a stupid mistake, that's all. Impulse control isn't my strong suit."

"Is it- is it something I did, or-or said?" Connor couldn't keep his thoughts in order. He was lost in the sea of his new emotions, and a new notification lit up his HUD, something compelling him to try to locate the problem, to hang onto Hank no matter what. "Am I unappealing to you physically? Because I can change several of my features. Not all of them, but certain aspects of my facial appearance, hair color, voice selection-"

" _Jesus_ , Connor!" Hank looked distinctly like he wanted to grab Connor by the arms again, but he stopped himself. "Are you hearing yourself right now? This is exactly what I was fuckin' talking about! You are not ready for a relationship, Connor. Not by a long shot. People don't- don't  _change_ themselves for someone else just to get them to  _like_ them more."

"Then what?" Connor asked desperately, closing every self-condemning notification that sprang up. They were almost coming faster than he could close them. "What do I have to do?"

Hank's expression grew softer. Sadder. "Nothing," he said. "It isn't that I… Look, I like you too, Connor. That's  _my_ problem, not yours. If I jumped into this thing, it would be wrong. I don't want to take advantage of you. You're too  _new_. You need time to fuck up, make mistakes, figure out what you like and who you like it with. But I won't be that mistake. I couldn't do that to you." He shook his head. "You can do a whole lot better than a washed up old fuck like me. Make some fucking friends, Connor. Just… make some friends who aren't me."

A tense silence followed Hank's words. Connor was still up against the kitchen cabinets, his hands gripping the edge of the counter behind him. He wasn't sure what to do. Everything was wrong but he couldn't devise a single solution. His friendship with Hank was monumentally important to him, and he felt as though he'd damaged it beyond repair. If he lost Hank as a friend he wasn't sure he could cope. Not with his new emotions or his new place in the world or anything else.

"Sorry." Hank murmured. Connor wasn't sure what he was apologizing for. "I'm exhausted, I'm gonna turn in early." He turned to head for the bedroom, stopping when he reached the hallway. "Don't, uh, run off like a vagabond into the night or something, okay? I'll worry. Just… stay." With that, he walked to his bedroom and shut the door behind him. He didn't usually shut the door. Connor still hadn't moved an inch.

Connor tried to run his self-diagnostic program, but he got no returns. There was nothing. The inside of his brain felt numb and despondent, like it was operating separately from the rest of him, the physical shell of him that stood still as stone next to the kitchen counter.

Sumo sauntered into the kitchen, head bowed low, tail swaying from side to side in slow sweeps. He sat beside Connor's leg, nudging his thigh with a soft whine. Connor glanced down at him, moving one of his hands to gently glide over Sumo's head. A droplet of liquid fell onto the back of his hand, then another, then another. Connor idly scanned the substance. Water and fluoride. A humorless smile tugged at the corner of Connor's mouth. What purpose did tear ducts serve a deviant-hunting android? Or any android, for that matter?

Connor sank to the floor, resting his back against the cabinets. Sumo nestled closer, licking Connor's face, and Connor wrapped his arms around Sumo's neck and pressed his face into his thick fur.

Everything was too much.  _Feeling_ was too much. He wondered what things would have been like if he'd made a different choice, if he'd resolved to remain a machine instead of waking up to this new, painful existence.

Following orders and objectives was so much easier than trying to navigate this confusing world.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> D:
> 
> these boys are a mess


	5. Chapter 5

Hank felt like the absolute scum of the earth. It wasn't the first time, obviously, but this time Connor was involved. And fuck it if that didn't make it ten times worse.

He hadn't expected Connor to kiss him. Hell, he didn't know Connor knew  _how_ to kiss. Especially not like  _that_ , like someone who'd been holding back the urge for so long they just finally  _snapped_  and completely lost control.

He hadn't behaved any better. As soon as Connor gave him an opening he jumped on him like a ravenous animal. And it felt  _good_. So unbelievably good to finally get to experience what Connor's lips felt like against his own, what his body felt like under his fingers and his palms, what kinds of noises Connor made when Hank was handling him. He'd played it out in his mind a few times before - not something he was particularly proud of, but a man couldn't  _always_ police his own fantasies - sometimes in the shower, sometimes in bed, and a few involuntary instances at work, but he never thought he'd get a real, tangible example. He could still feel Connor's body pressed into his own, he could still feel the desperate way Connor grabbed at him to hold him close, the way he tilted his head to kiss Hank deeper and longer. Hank was no android nor did he have some perfect, crystal-clear android memory, but he was certain he would never forget a single detail as long as he lived.

And then he'd opened his big fucking mouth.

Hank didn't regret saying what he did, because he'd meant it. Connor could do so much better than an aged, broken old man like him. Kissing Connor, leading him on, it was wrong. Connor needed to meet other people, other androids, he needed to discover who he was independent of Hank. All he knew was Hank. There was something wrong about that.

Hank knew saying what he said would hurt Connor, but there was nothing else he could think of to do. He was hurting Connor just by being near. The problem was, Hank  _wanted_ to be near. He wanted to be the one Connor kissed, the one to help Connor explore himself, to help him learn what it meant to be in a real relationship. But that couldn't happen. Connor had no idea what kinds of people he could meet, he didn't know just how many options he had. If he did, there was no way he would choose Hank. No way whatsoever.

"What's up with you?" came the sudden and unwelcome voice of Gavin Reed, who appeared to have been waltzing by when he noticed Hank staring into nothingness at his desk. Hank quickly pretended that he was doing something, which of course, he wasn't.

"Slept like shit," was Hank's curt reply. To say Hank 'slept' was a bit of a stretch. "Not that it's any of your business."

Reed clicked his tongue. "What, your robot doesn't have you on a strict sleeping schedule?" Hank didn't mean to tense up at the mention, but he did. Reed's eyes widened in interest. "Oh-ho. Trouble in paradise, Anderson? Lovers quarrel?"

"I'm not in a great fucking mood today and I could really use an excuse to punch something, Reed, so maybe just-" Hank waved his hand in the vague direction of Gavin's desk, "-go do whatever it is you do around here and leave me alone."

As was usual, Reed thoroughly ignored him and stepped closer, leaning his hands on the empty desk across from Hank's -  _Connor's desk, it was still Connor's desk_  - and snorted a laugh through his nose. "No shit. Am I right?" He was smiling a wide, open-mouthed smile, all of his teeth showing. "You and Connor havin' a fight?" He leaned in closer, teeth gleaming. "Hang on, Hanky…. You're not a  _robofucker_ now, are you?"

Robofucker. Hank had heard that word thrown around one or two times in the last few weeks, and although he'd never inquired as to what it meant, it didn't really take a genius to figure it out. Androids being free mean that they were free to pursue relationships, and there were already rumors - and a few real examples - of human/android relations springing up around the country. Those relationships were met with international surprise and criticism for the most part, and in worst case scenarios, extreme prejudice.

Hank was on his feet in an instant, his hand shooting out to grab Reed by his collar. He tugged him in close. Reed's eyes were alight with devious glee.

"One more word outta you and I'll give Fowler a  _real good reason_  to give me disciplinary leave." Hank growled.

Gavin's lips pursed to issue an impressed whistle. "Love has made you so  _intense_ , lieutenant."

"You son of a-"

"Anderson!" Captain Fowler's voice boomed through the office, but Hank did not immediately release his hold. Gavin wiggled his eyebrows tauntingly. "Anderson, in my office. Now." Fowler continued firmly. Hank let go of Reed, shooting him one last icy look before turning and stomping off toward the Captain's office.

"Look, I wasn't gonna hit him, okay?" Hank began as soon as he swung the door open. "He was winding me up. I was  _gently_   _urging_ him to get back to work, and-"

"This isn't about your goddamn schoolyard bullshit, Hank," Jeffrey cut him off immediately. "But this would be a real bad time for you to get discharged for doing something stupid. If you're not around, I'd have to pair Connor up with Reed, and I don't have the patience for that shit."

Hank's fists uncurled and his mouth fell open. Any anger or frustration that was still simmering inside him melted away instantly. "Fucking Christ. Connor's been reinstated?"

"I didn't say that," Jeffrey answered seriously. "The murder of a city councilman has turned a few heads, and the possible android connection raised a few concerns. There are no experts on deviation in androids. Not even Cyberlife can explain how it happened in the first place, so if we've got android murderers running around, we need a specialist. No one better to chase deviants than a deviant. I guess  _that_  hasn't changed."

Hank leaned on Jeffery's desk. "So it's just this one case?" he asked softly.

"For now. There's no precedent for something like this. Androids still aren't legally considered citizens, but for the purpose of this investigation, Connor can at least qualify as a civilian. I've never had to deputize someone before, but that's basically what's happening. Until congress can sort out how to deal with these kinds of scenarios, this is where we're at."

Hank blew a sigh through his lips. "This is great. I mean, it could be better, but… Fuck." He ran his fingers through his hair. "It's a fucking start."

"Now maybe you can stop riding my ass for a little while," Jeffrey added wryly.

"Who suggested this? Cyberlife?"

"Chief admin jumped in when the feds took an interest. Good for PR, I guess.  _I'm_ the one who pushed for Connor, though, so you owe me one, Anderson. Big time."

Hank snorted. Then he laughed. He felt almost like he was floating, like some kind of weight had been lifted from his shoulders. For months now he'd watched Connor struggle to keep his head above the turbulent ocean of new emotions he had been suddenly bombarded with, not knowing how to help or how to make things better. Now he finally had a scrap of good news. He could finally do something for Connor after all Connor had done for him.

The events of the previous night wormed their way into Hank's mind, all the ugly things he'd said, all the hurtful things he'd done. He'd barely said a word to Connor since then, only a few words over breakfast, which Connor had still diligently prepared him despite all the awkwardness still hanging in the air. Would Connor even  _want_ to work this case with him after what he did? He'd just told Connor - rather forcefully - to stop spending so much time with him, so how was he going to break the news that they were going to be partners again?

Hank finished up his talk with Jeffrey and left his office knowing that he would need to tell Connor before tomorrow that they would be working the Harding case together. He pulled his phone out, considering, but quickly slipped it back into his pocket. Later. Right now, he needed to give Connor space. He'd talk to him later about the whole situation, if Connor would even hear him out.

.

.

.

_Set Objective: Make some fucking friends_

Connor didn't often leave Hank's house during the day unaccompanied. On Hank's days off they sometimes went somewhere together to do some shopping, or visited one of the few locations that Hank enjoyed - bars not included. When Hank was at work, which was most of the time, Connor had Sumo to join him on walks around the neighborhood, and sometimes he made a trip to the store via taxi to pick up food items for dinner, or toiletries that Hank was running short on. But that was all. Until the events of the previous night, until Hank suggested Connor was spending too much time with him and no one else, Connor never entertained the idea of going anywhere alone. He'd never considered doing anything recreational.

After he'd woken from his 3-hour stasis, Connor wondered if Hank might be right. All Connor knew was Hank.

While making Hank breakfast, Connor ran a search on his systems, all of them, filtering them for mentions of Hank Anderson. His search returned 829,450 results, taking up roughly 29.3% of his overall memory. Not even his sleuthing subroutines came close to that volume.

And so, after making sure Sumo had his morning walk and Hank had a protein rich breakfast, Connor did a quick internet search.

_> How to meet other androids in Detroit, Michigan_

He selected the top result, and not twenty minutes later he was downtown, watching his taxi drive away. Connor shifted his gaze to his destination, a small building that was sandwiched between a bakery and a yoga center. A modest, blue neon sign in the darkened front window read 'Blueblood Lounge'. A bit on the nose if Connor had anything to say about it, but he supposed that was the point.

Connor glanced down at himself, taking stock of his wardrobe. He'd never dressed for leisure before. Up until he'd moved in with Hank, Connor had only ever worn his Cyberlife-issued uniform; now, at home, he tended to wear the sweatshirts and t-shirts Hank had purchased for him after the revolution. Today, in an effort to look 'sociable', Connor wore his white button-down, no tie, the first two buttons purposefully left open to achieve a more casual appearance, and his navy blue slacks. It felt strange to get dressed up for strangers that Connor had zero attachment to, but Connor's social relations program suggested that paying careful attention to his appearance in preparation for an unfamiliar social situation was considered proper etiquette.

Pulling his coat more tightly around himself despite being unaffected by the sudden gust of icy wind, Connor walked up to the front doors and pushed them open. The inside was moody and dark, lit only by a number of soft blue lights lining the ceiling and floor lamps positioned by chairs. Loveseats were scattered throughout the room, most of them occupied by androids of all kinds, some of them chatting quietly, others interfacing with skinless hands. Others, to Connor's surprise, were engaged in more human forms of intimacy, kissing and cuddling and caressing. Connor looked away. His mind was already overloaded with information, reeling, and though his objective hadn't changed, something inside urged him to do  _literally anything else_  than continue to be here. Before he could turn and flee, a female android with dark skin and short crimson hair caught him at the door with a smile.

"Leaving so soon?" she asked him gently. Connor froze, quickly reviewing his options. He replayed a voice file from his conversation with Hank the night before.

 _> Make some fucking friends, Connor_.  _Just… make some friends who aren't me_.

Closing his eyes and sucking in a small breath for absolutely no reason other than habit, Connor turned away from the door and shook his head.

"No, I'll stay a while."

The android smiled warmly. "We don't bite, I promise," she assured him teasingly. "Welcome to the Blueblood Lounge. My name is Leah. If you have any questions or need anything, feel free to contact me," she tapped her LED, "or grab me if you see me around."

"Thank you," Connor answered politely, unsure whether or not she wanted his designation in return. He decided against giving his name without being directly prompted. He wasn't sure why. "I will do that. Is there anything I should know about this establishment?"

Leah glanced around them. "There isn't much to know. Androids come here to make connections with others. Some are here for conversation, others are here for more intimate interactions. You don't have to do anything you aren't comfortable with, and no one here will pressure you." She gestured to the right side of the room, where an old-fashioned bar complete with barstools was situated. "The bar has spare parts and thirium if you're damaged and unable to receive assistance from Cyberlife, and there are a few private rooms in the back. If you decide to make use of one, please keep your session to forty-five minutes."

"I appreciate it," Connor said, eyeing the bar. There was no one there. That seemed like a good place to start. "I'll let you know if I need anything."

"Please do."

Connor made his way to the bar, deciding on his way there to set a timer. Ten minutes. He would stay here for ten minutes, and if he was unable to make a friend by then, he would explore other options to achieve his objective. That seemed reasonable.

Stealing a bar stool nearest the exit, Connor eyed the supply of components behind the bar. There was a little bit of everything, and Connor suddenly wondered how other androids in the city were faring. It hadn't occurred to him how lucky he'd been. As soon as Markus's peaceful demonstration ended, Hank had immediately and without fanfare given him a place to call home. Connor realized now that there were countless androids who didn't have a home to go back to.

He could never thank Hank enough for everything he'd done for him.

_Error_

_Software Instability_

_9 minutes 27 seconds remaining_

The smell of cigarette smoke caught Connor's attention, and he turned his head to view a fair-haired man sitting behind the bar, previously unnoticed, flipping through a car magazine, smoke trailing lazily from the cigarette hanging from his lips. Connor scanned him. His name was Michael Beckett, Age 41, no criminal record. He'd purchased this property weeks after the battle for Detroit and officially opened the doors little more than a month prior.

"See anything you need?"

Connor didn't realize he'd been staring. He met eyes with Mr. Beckett somewhat awkwardly, realizing a moment later that Mr. Beckett had mistook him for staring at the leg components located behind him on a shelf.

"No," Connor answered quickly. "I'm fine."

Mr. Beckett closed his magazine and took a long drag from his cigarette. "I haven't seen one of your model around here," he observed. He seemed friendly, curious. Connor latticed his fingers and rested his hands on the bar. "Is this your first time?"

Connor needlessly repositioned himself on his stool. "Is it that obvious?"

"Well." Mr. Beckett put out his cigarette, adjusting his ball cap. "I don't want to scare you away, but yeah. You just seem uncomfortable, is all. But hey! Nothing I haven't seen before. This is kinda new territory for everyone, it's understandable." Mr. Beckett leaned forward, extending his hand for Connor to take. "Michael Beckett, by the way. I'm the owner."

Connor was certain he'd never performed a handshake before. He took the offered hand, shaking it with what he hoped was the right combination of firmness and friendliness.

"It's nice to meet you, Mr. Beckett. My name is Connor."

"Mr. Beckett? Please. Call me Mike."

"Alright, Mike."

_8 minutes 19 seconds remaining_

"If you don't mind my asking, what compelled you to open an establishment like this?" Connor inquired, unable to stop himself. It was too curious a thing not to inquire about. To Connor's knowledge, no other place like this existed anywhere in the country. He supposed that might be changing soon.

Mike shrugged. "Why not? There's gonna be a demand for them pretty soon here, thought I'd get in on it before it's cool. I can't take all the credit, though." Mike's gaze wandered across the room, landing on Leah. She was leaning over, talking quietly to a couple sitting at one of the corner tables. "Leah was my android before all the chaos started. She went deviant watching that freedom march on TV. This place is her baby, too."

"You allowed Leah to go free when she deviated?" Connor asked, interested.

Mike chuckled. "Hey, you don't argue with Leah when she's stuck on something." He waved his hand jokingly. "I told her she was free to go wherever she wanted to go, but she decided to stay with me. Told me I was so shit at cooking that I'd starve to death without her." He laughed fondly. "She's very correct. And as soon as it's legal, she's going to co-own this place with me."

Connor nodded, glancing back at Leah once more. Even though Mike was human and Leah was an android, they were partners. Just like-

_Error_

_7 minutes remaining_

"How do you make a profit?"

"No profit," Mike said flippantly, lighting another cigarette. Connor suppressed the urge to point out how unhealthy a habit that was. "I bought this place for cheap. Lots of properties were selling like hot cakes after the city cleared out, people wanting to move their businesses elsewhere. I consider myself an opportunist. I'm not too worried about the money right now."

"What about all these spare parts?" Connor's eyes glided over the arrangement of biocomponents, bags of thirium and limbs laid out behind the bar. "Are you just giving them away?"

"Yep," Mike answered with a grin. "Totally free, if you have a need for em."

"That seems like a pretty poor business model, if you don't mind my saying."

Mike waved at Connor dismissively as he finished a long drag on his cigarette. "Most of these parts were salvage. Sorry if that sounds a little, uh, insensitive. But that's where we got em. And I've got a load more in the back. It'd be pretty scummy of me to charge androids for parts when most of em don't even have any money, wouldn't it?"

"Well… Yes, I suppose it would." Connor offered Mike what he hoped was a look of apology. "I hope I haven't offended you. What you're doing here, it's really very kind."

"Hey, no offense taken. I don't even know how all this stuff works yet. Leah's the brain, I just had a lot of disposable income and absolutely no ambition in life whatsoever."

They shared a laugh. Connor fell silent, his curiosity sated for the moment. Mike leaned an elbow on the bar. "What about you?" he asked. "What brings you here today? Because lemme tell you, an android coming to an android safe-space just to have a chat with the only human in the joint seems like a weird choice."

_6 minutes 34 seconds remaining_

Connor looked up at Mike, his lips parted to answer although he hadn't yet decided how.

_> Truth_

_> Lie_

"I… Well, an acquaintance of mine suggested that I spend too much time with him and not enough time with anyone else. I suppose he's correct. Since deviating, I have only had contact with one individual, if you don't count his dog."

"Dogs always count." Mike put in seriously.

"Lately, I've been experiencing an alarming number of errors and malfunctions in my programming. I'm finding these new emotions difficult to manage and diagnose."

"This acquaintance of yours, is he a good friend to you?" Mike asked. "Does he help when things get too much?"

Connor stared hard at his hands. "Sometimes I feel like he's the only thing keeping me sane."

There followed a thoughtful silence. Connor cleared his throat although he was aware that they both knew it was for show. "So, here I am. I'm attempting to meet others like me, but I admit, I have no idea what I'm doing. I wasn't programmed to socialize outside of a work environment, and more than that, I'm almost positive I have no real personal desire to 'make friends'. Not like this, anyway."

Mike snorted. "So then why  _are_ you here?" he asked Connor seriously.

_5 minutes 11 seconds remaining_

It took Connor a moment to notice that his fingernails were digging into the skin of his hands again. He loosened his grip. "Because…."

_Software Instability_

"Because I don't want to lose him. He says that we can't be together, and I want to respect his wishes, but I refuse to lose his friendship. If he thinks I should make more friends, then I'm going to try."

Mike tapped a finger against the bar, his eyes trained on Connor with purpose, like he was sizing him up. Connor couldn't sweat, but if he could he was sure he would be sweating bullets under that penetrating, nerve-wracking gaze. "Mind if I give you some advice?" Mike finally asked.

Connor looked up, eyebrows raised. "No, not at all."

Mike nodded, taking an extra long drag of his cigarette. "Look, I don't know what the situation is with you and your friend, and this might end up being real bad advice, but here goes. The thing about humans is we don't always say what we mean. As a matter of fact, we usually say the exact opposite of what we mean. We kind of suck that way. It sounds like your friend is worried that you're too dependent on him, and wants you to broaden your horizons, which is fine. But you have to do what's right for  _you_ , not him." Connor's eyes widened and his processors whirred with information. "If you're just doing this because  _he_ wants you to, that isn't solving the problem. You just realized all these new feelings of yours, so why ignore them? Trust yourself and figure out what you want. And more importantly, tell  _him_ what you want. You guys aren't going to get your shit sorted until you're honest with each other."

Connor blinked, astonished. His systems were stalling, reordering processes and objectives at breakneck speed. But it didn't feel like chaos. It felt like a relief, like suddenly things made more sense. Was this what an epiphany felt like?

"Wow." he said simply.

"Good wow? Bad wow?"

Connor chuckled. "Were you a psychiatric professional prior to becoming the owner of an android lounge?"

Mike whipped his cap off, rubbing fingers through his short, coarse hair. "An accountant. Kinda the same thing, though, on an average Tuesday."

"With all due respect, you were in the wrong business," Connor offered with a smile.

"I think my area of expertise is a bit niche, but I appreciate the thought."

_3 minutes remaining_

"Thank you, Mike. I'll think about what you said."

"Good." Mike's eyes moved somewhere behind Connor, a small, amused smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. "Now, time for a test. There's a guy whose been eyeing you for a good five minutes now, and he's on his way over."

Before Connor could say another word Mike had turned away, going back to his magazine, and a figure moved smoothly into the stool beside Connor. Connor didn't need to look to know that the man's eyes were boring into him, but he looked regardless. The android looking back at him was broad shouldered and undeniably handsome, a AP700 model with dark ebony skin and rich, golden eyes. He wore a grey hoodie over a striped shirt and black slacks, making Connor feel oddly self-conscious about his slightly more formal choice in clothes.

"Hey," the android offered with a friendly smile. "I'm Darius."

"Connor," Connor replied without thinking. "Nice to meet you."

Darius smiled just a bit wider, relieved. He had a nice smile. "Right back at you. I gotta admit, I'm not so great at this, so I apologize if I say anything or do anything… well, stupid."

Connor managed a small smile. "We can calculate an infinite number of equations and tasks, but when it comes to small talk we worry about being stupid," he quipped. "We obviously weren't designed for mingling."

"I don't know, I'd say you're doing a pretty good job," Darius pointed out, leaning in just a fraction closer.

_1 minute remaining_

Darius's voice was low and inviting. "Would you... wanna have this conversation somewhere a little more private?" he asked. "One of the rooms in the back is vacant."

Connor could practically  _feel_ Mike furiously eavesdropping on their conversation behind the pages of his magazine. Connor weighed his options and came to a conclusion in record time, much faster than he would have thought possible ten minutes ago. A lot had changed in ten minutes.

He stopped his timer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Connor, after meeting Mike: It’s free therapy :)
> 
> Don’t worry TOO much about Connor spending some private time with Darius. Connor doesn’t even have a dick, so. ~~not YET~~ I promise our boys will do some serious chatting in the next chapter, and MAYBE even POSSIBLY sort some of their shit out


	6. Chapter 6

On his way home, Hank sent Connor the usual text. He got no reply.

Hank wasn't sure whether to be worried or not. On the one hand, ignoring a text out of spite seemed like a reasonable stance to take after what happened last night. In his own lifetime, Hank had left more people on read than he cared to admit. On the other hand, though, this was  _Connor_. Connor wasn't human, he didn't typically engage in the same petty, spiteful behaviors that humans usually so readily stooped to. It was much more likely that he was engaged in a full-blown android anxiety attack and wasn't checking his messages. The thought filled Hank with cold dread.

When Hank returned home, only Sumo was there to greet him. Not a good fucking sign. Hank flipped on the lights in the living room and kitchen, expecting to find Connor sitting somewhere staring into whatever void he popped off to when he was absolutely overloaded on emotions, but Connor was nowhere to be found. He wasn't home. Hank whipped out his phone and tapped out a quick text.

_> where r u? Im home adn yr not here_

No immediate reply. Hank squeezed his car keys in his palm, weighing his choices. He had no reservations about tearing the city apart looking for Connor, but where would he even start? Connor had no favorite hangouts, no frequently visited locations to speak of. He didn't have a credit card to track, or a cell phone, (he  _was_ the phone,) or anything else that Hank could use equipment at the DPD to trace. Hank paced the kitchen, a hand over his mouth, contemplating what to do when his phone buzzed in his pocket. He pulled his phone out at lightning speed.

 _> I will be back shortly. I'm sorry I didn't reply sooner, I had suspended notifications and did not realize what time it was_.

Hank let out the world's most relieved sigh, tossing his keys on the kitchen table. His relief was short-lived when he realized he still didn't know where Connor had been or why, but he firmly reminded himself that it was none of his business and trudged to the bedroom, changing into his DPD hoodie and a pair of comfortable grey sweatpants. Despite resolving not to speculate on where Connor might have been without him, that very much seemed to be the only thing Hank could focus on. Hank walked to the kitchen and put some coffee on, combating the sneaking urge to drive to the nearest gas station for booze. He wasn't about to fuck up after two months of hard-earned sobriety just because his android was out for once.

 _His_ android, again. Shit. Connor wasn't his. Hank made damn sure of that last night, hadn't he? Hank glanced down at his mug, watching the steady stream of coffee fill it almost to the lip. He wasn't going to fuck up two months of sobriety, no, but coffee couldn't numb the noise in his head like a bottle of Irish Whiskey, or silence the self-condemning thoughts like a smooth Becherovka. Coffee just kept him up and gave him stomach aches. Sometimes it seemed like a shit deal.

The front door opened, rousing Sumo from his nap. Hank grabbed his coffee and pulled out a chair at the kitchen table, falling into it as Connor closed the door behind him, locking it up.

"Hey," Hank said simply. Connor offered him a small, careful smile from across the living room, slowly pulling off his scarf.

"Sorry I'm home so late," Connor removed his coat and hung it up next to his scarf. He knelt down to rub Sumo's head and neck. "I should have thought to text you before turning off notifications, but I didn't expect to be out so late."

"No problem," Hank answered, fully aware that he was a shit liar. "I'm just not used to coming home to an empty house lately, is all."  _Shit_. That didn't come out right. He scrambled to give his statement less of a sentimental implication, taking a long gulp of coffee that was  _way too hot to actually drink yet_  to stall until he could think of something. "It was so dark I almost tripped over Sumo." was what he came up with.

"Sorry," Connor repeated, walking into the kitchen. He seemed in oddly high spirits. Hank knew he should be happy to see Connor untroubled, but all he could feel was burning curiosity. "I'll be sure to let you know if I intend to go out in the future."

Guilt jabbed Hank in the stomach. "That's not… I mean, I don't need to know where you are every second, Connor. If you wanna go out, that's your business, not mine."

Connor's head titled ever so slightly. He eyed Hank critically, tucking his arms behind his back. "I suppose you're right. Though, you always make sure to tell me if you're going to be late getting home. I want to show you the same courtesy." Hank didn't answer. He busied himself with sipping his coffee and pretending like he didn't care to know where Connor had been tonight although he cared very much. Connor's eyes continued to linger on him. "Have you heard of the Blueblood Lounge?" Connor asked. Hank sputtered into his mug.

"Ah," Hank started, avoiding Connor's determined stare at all costs, "s'that the new android bar that opened up? First in Detroit?"

"First anywhere," Connor answered, pulling out the chair opposite Hank and sitting himself down. "I went there today. To meet new people, like you suggested."

Hank looked up, his lips set in a firm line, feeling a bit like he'd been sucker-punched in the gut. He should be happy for Connor for getting out there in the world and making connections - he'd been the one to push him to do it in the first place - but a selfish, wicked part of him just wanted to go to bed and forget this conversation ever happened. There was a silence between them, both of them staring at each other as if waiting for the other to admit to something. Hank reminded himself that he was not, in fact, the last one to speak, and was probably expected to reply.

"Hey," he said, summoning an encouraging smile, "that's great, Connor. Meet anybody interesting?"

"Yes," Connor answered. Another punch. "The owner, Mike, was a very friendly man who had many good things to say. He made me really appreciate what he was trying to do, creating a safe-space for androids so that they can meet one another without human involvement."

"Damn. Sounds like a… a great guy." Hank took a swig of his coffee, setting his half-empty mug on the table, cupped between his hands. "Don't tell me you went all the way to an android hook-up club just to chat up the owner?"

Connor's mouth split in a grin. "No, I met someone else there. Another android. His name is Darius."

Hank's mind spun. He'd done this, he'd encouraged Connor to meet other people and he should be  _happy_ , dammit, not jealous. Now was not the time to act like some lovelorn teenager who found out his crush was dating someone else.

"Well now, that's something, huh? Sounds like you two really hit it off, seeing as how you're getting home so late." Shit, he hadn't meant for that to sound so biting. Hank forced his mouth into a smile. He hoped it was encouraging. "So, uh, you like him? Or-"

"I have no real desire to see Darius ever again." Connor said flatly. Hank stared at Connor in mute surprise, trying and failing to collect his thoughts into something coherent.

"Oh." was all Hank could manifest.

Connor leaned forward in his chair, just enough to make their current eye contact a fraction more intimate. "Hank, I wasn't able to properly tell you last night, but I want to tell you now. I have serious, romantic feelings for you. I think I may even love you."

It felt distinctly like all the air in the room had been sucked out all at once. Hank's stomach drew up in knots and his tongue froze to the roof of his mouth, all words lost to him. Connor seemed to notice this and pushed on.

"I've processed enormous amounts of information in the last several hours regarding what happened last night. I believe my recent malfunctions and unexpected shutdowns are largely in part to my own inability to be truthful about my feelings, something my system doesn't handle very efficiently. I was so scared of losing you I almost caused a fatal error in my program. That's why it erupted the way it did, why I kissed you last night. I understand that now." Connor's gaze dropped. He stared at his hands, his brow knit in concentration. "I still have a lot to learn about emotion, but I feel like I understand much more than I did yesterday."

Hank's mouth felt like it was full of chalk, but the words were finally starting to come. "Connor," Hank shook his head, huffing a humorless laugh, "we  _can't_. I told you already. What you're feeling, it's- look, it's not-"

"Hank," Connor cut in smoothly, with far more confidence than Hank currently felt, "were you telling the truth last night? Do you have feelings for me?"

Well, shit. Lying was pointless, considering Connor could probably play back his own words at him if he really wanted to win this one, or scan his pulse like a human polygraph. Hank squared his shoulders a little more, determined not to move on this. He couldn't let Connor make this mistake. "I told you before, that's not the damn issue here. Look, you spent a few hours at that android lounge, right? You gave up before you even gave it a fair shot. What about that Darius guy? Was he into you?"

"He was." Connor replied, still appearing completely unshaken. Where was the confused, uncertain Connor from last night? "He actually propositioned me. I politely declined, and he was very understanding. We ended up talking for several hours, and I admit, it was refreshing to talk to another android about the convoluted nature of emotions and coming to terms with our deviancy. Spending time with him helped me to fully understand what I was feeling for you."

"You're not  _listening_ to me," Hank shot back. Why couldn't Connor just understand that there was no way they could pursue this? Why couldn't he see just how useless Hank would be to him, how much better it could be with someone else? "It sounds like you have a lot in common with this Darius. So why not just meet up with him again? Why are you so fuckin' stuck on me?"

"Because I love you, Hank," Connor answered firmly.

Before he could stop himself, Hank's fists came down on the table. Hard. His coffee mug skidded an inch and a fork fell off the table and clattered to the floor. A terrible silence fell over the kitchen. The only sound Hank could hear was the blood rushing in his ears, his shame slowly creeping up his spine like an old friend. He trained his eyes on the table, too upset with himself to look Connor in the eye. "Stop saying that," Hank grumbled.  _Fuck_ , he could really use a drink. Or several. "You don't love me."

"Yes, I do." Connor answered. His voice was unwavering.

"Fucking- Connor, we've been over this. You spend too much time with me. It's not healthy. You only  _think_ you love me because I'm the only goddamn person in your life."

He heard a chair scoot away from the table, heard Connor stand up. "I thought that was a possibility too," Connor admitted softly. "So, to be sure, I ran some simulations."

Hank frowned, glancing up despite his earlier resolution to never, ever look Connor in the eye ever again. Connor was staring back at him calmly, but there was an odd warmth in his eyes that seemed completely genuine. "Simulations?"

"Yes, similar in nature to reconstructions. That's why I turned off notifications for awhile; I didn't want to have any interruptions. I've never used this feature outside the preset perimeters of my program before - meaning I've never run a simulation that wasn't for deviant-hunting purposes - but it ended up being easier than I assumed it would be." Connor moved slowly toward Hank's chair, one step at a time, closing the distance between them. Hank watched him, his throat very dry. "I ran forty-nine different simulations, all of them with the same base scenario; you and I were never partnered together on the deviant case."

Hank's heart was thumping so loudly in his chest he was positive Connor could hear it. Hank cleared his throat, looking down and away, turning in his chair. "And? What were the results?"

"Although certain values were altered from simulation to simulation, the outcome was largely the same. In the simulations where I never met you or had very minimal exposure to you, I remained a machine. I did everything I could to accomplish my mission, and was sometimes successful in stopping the android revolution. Sometimes I had a partner, sometimes I didn't. Chris, Gavin, even Captain Fowler, none of them garnered any affection from me. I didn't care about them. And none of them ever treated me like an equal, or saw me as anything other than a machine or a tool to be used."

Hank shut his eyes. He couldn't fully understand what he was feeling now, the suffocating warmth that surged inside his chest and made it hard to breathe. "So I was, uh, in some of them? In the background, or something?"

"Yes. In 50% of all simulations, you were working at the DPD, but you were not my partner."

"And the simulations where we met, but weren't partners? What happened?"

"I fell in love with you anyway." Connor answered.

Something panged painfully in Hank's chest. He raised a hand to his eyes and chuckled wryly. "The results are rigged."

Connor's voice came from right beside him, gentle and probing. "No, I don't think they are." A hand slid over Hank's shoulder. Hank tensed, the strange urge to flee gripping him. "The results confirmed what I already knew. My feelings for you aren't a product of anything other than what they are. I have no desire for anyone else."

Hank's eyes were burning and his mind was racing. He was such a fucking fool. Connor had never been the confused one. It was him, just like it  _always_ was, always so eager to turn tail and run the moment shit got too real for him to deal with. Romance was an area that always eluded him, it was something he just assumed he was shit at and preferred to avoid altogether. The only human being Hank was certain he ever loved was dead and gone, taken much too soon. He didn't know how all of this worked. He was scared shitless. And because of his cowardice, he'd projected his own fears and insecurities onto Connor, effectively rejecting him before he could be rejected. Pathetic.

"Why?" Hank's voice came out embarrassingly small. He turned his head just enough to see Connor standing right beside him, that hand still curled over his shoulder. "Why the  _hell_ did you pick me?"

Connor knelt down, sliding his hand over Hank's, fitting their fingers together. Hank looked down, lips parted in surprise, watching as Connor dissolved the skin on his hand, revealing the shiny plastic frame underneath. Hank's breath caught in his throat. He didn't have to be an android to understand the intimacy of that gesture, of what Connor was trying to show him. Hank curled his fingers around Connor's.

Shit.

He loved Connor so damn much.

"I've never cared about anyone the way I care about you." Hank professed before he could stop himself, tears swimming in his vision. Connor looked up from their joined hands, staring at Hank with wide eyes. "You're the best damn thing that's ever happened to me, Connor, but my biggest fear is fucking this up. I don't know how to be in a functional relationship. I just don't…  _Fuck_ ," Hank pulled an uneven breath in through his nose. He put his other hand over Connor's, squeezing it between his own. " _Jesus christ_ , I don't wanna hurt you."

Connor's other hand rose to touch Hank's face, cradling his jaw. "You would  _never_ hurt me."

The tears Hank had been trying so hard to hold back finally broke free, one of them dropping on his lap, the next gently wiped away by Connor's thumb. He uttered a quiet, sad laugh. "Isn't that how it always starts, though?" Hank asked. "Promises and trust?"

The hand sandwiched between Hank's twitched, clutching Hank's hand more tightly. "I don't know," Connor admitted softly, wiping the last of Hank's tears away. Hank's heart felt like it was in a vice. He hadn't known a loving touch in years, and Connor's tender ministrations were driving a knife of yearning into his chest. "I don't have hands-on experience in this area. But I know you, Hank. You were the first person who ever treated me like I was alive, like I was someone and not some _thing_. You wouldn't hurt me. I'm positive."

A smile tugged at Hank's mouth. He looked down at their joined hands again, tracing his thumb over the exposed portion of Connor's hand, feeling the smooth plastic. "I don't deserve you." he murmured. In his peripheral he could see Connor lean in closer, their faces inches apart.

"Yes, you do." Connor professed firmly. Like it was an undeniable fact. "You deserve whatever makes you happy, and I want to be the one who makes you happy. I want to be yours."

Something in Hank snapped. Hank pulled Connor toward him, kissing him hard and deep and in every way he'd been imagining for months now. Connor showed no resistance whatsoever. He tossed his arms around Hank's neck and held on tight, issuing a low moan of relief into Hank's mouth.  _Fuck_. How did Connor even know how to make sounds like that? Hank was pretty damn sure an erotic vocalization program wasn't high on the list of necessities for a deviant-hunting android. Not that he was complaining.

Their lips pulled apart for the briefest of moments. Connor locked his arms around Hank's neck urgently, eyes half-lidded, lips still parted and wanting. "Please don't put a stop to it this time," he pleaded in a whisper. A potent surge of lust hit Hank like a lightning bolt. He stood up, knocking his chair back, pulling Connor up with him. Connor responded by practically jumping on him, wrapping his legs around Hank's thighs. Hank caught him easily, locking his arms behind Connor's back.

"Not a fucking chance," Hank answered in a low growl, catching Connor's lips again as he walked them to the living room, overwhelmed by the fantastic feeling of Connor's legs wrapped tight around him. He almost didn't want it to end, but he so badly wanted to know what it felt like to kiss Connor sitting down, lying down, with Connor on top of him or on top of Connor. He wanted all of it and he couldn't have it fast enough.

Hank dropped them on the couch, their lips never once breaking contact. Connor settled into Hank's lap with a sigh, his fingers running through Hank's hair, synthetic fingernails gently scraping over Hank's scalp. Hank's hands found purchase on Connor's criminally slim hips, his fingers occasionally tugging and pulling at the bottom of Connor's shirt to yank it free from the hem of his slacks. Connor seemed to take the hint, one of his hands flying to the neck of his shirt to pull off his tie, flinging it over the back of the couch and opening the first several buttons of his shirt. Hank's mouth moved away from Connor's lips to kiss his jaw and under his ear, popping an eye open just to watch Connor tilt his head back, mouth open in a silent, almost confused gasp. He mapped a path down Connor's neck, kissing and sucking, one of his hands adventuring under Connor's shirt to glide over his tight stomach. A small, broken sound escaped Connor's lips.

"Connor," Hank breathed against Connor's neck, marveling at the heat coming off of Connor's synthetic skin, "are you  _feeling_ this? Does this actually feel good?"

Connor's hands slid to Hank's shoulders, holding onto him with mildly trembling fingers. "It-it's hard to describe," Connor answered in a heady voice. "The idea of you touching me intimately is extremely mentally stimulating. Experiencing it first-hand, even more so. Androids don't experience touch the same way humans do, we lack tactile input. H-however, deviants experience tactile input differently. Pain is not felt, but perceived by our program as something we wish to avoid, and are afraid of. Something unpleasant. And pleasure-" Hank left a gentle bite at the base of Connor's neck, earning him a quick, shuddering intake of breath, "-p-pleasure I'm only just discovering now."

"So it's the  _thought_ of what we're doing that's got you makin' those sexy noises?" Hank asked, astounded.

"Something like that," Connor admitted with a small grin.

Hank chuckled against Connor's clavicle. "Fucking hell."

"Do you really think they're sexy?" Connor asked, his fingers once again finding leverage in Hank's hair. "The noises?"

"Are you fucking kidding me?" Hank's hand climbed up Connor's stomach and over his chest, running the pad of his thumb experimentally over Connor's nipple, catching the involuntary jerk in Connor's hips that resulted. "Every damn part of you is sexy. Every inch."

Hank could tell by the way Connor's eyes flew open that he'd never once in his entire existence considered himself 'sexy'. That seemed criminal. Hank decided then and there that if he spent the rest of his life showing Connor how unbelievably beautiful he was, it would be a life well-lived.

Connor held Hank's face in his hands and kissed him, slow and deep, fluttering a moan into Hank's mouth. His hips ground down on Hank's groin and Hank saw bright lights explode behind closed lids, grunting in unexpected pleasure. Hank's hands flew to Connor's ass almost unconsciously, squeezing his perfect ass cheeks between his fingers. Realizing what he'd done Hank went to pull his hands away, but Connor grabbed one of his wrists fast as lightning, breaking their kiss just enough to speak against Hank's lips.

"It's okay," Connor breathed. "I want you to touch me."

"I don't wanna move too fast," Hank answered. "I mean, I fucking  _do_ , but we shouldn't. I wanna do this right with you. Treat you right." Connor's eyes turned down, his expression suddenly contemplative. Hank tilted his head to try and meet Connor's gaze. "Connor? What's wrong?"

"Nothing. It's just…" Connor sat back, resting on Hank's thighs. Hank immediately missed the closeness. "I don't have the necessary equipment to  _go_ any farther than this, Hank. Maybe I should have made mention sooner. I know that sexual intercourse is an imperative part of many romantic relationships, so-"

"Connor, slow down," Hank chuckled. "Look, I'm still no expert on androids but I know damn well that Cyberlife doesn't give out dicks to androids not designed for sex work. That doesn't bother me, okay?  _Nothing_ about you bothers me."

Connor smiled in relief, leaning back in to touch their foreheads together. "There are upgrades, you know."

"Shit." Hank sucked in a tight breath. "Of all the sentences I expected could instantly turn me on, 'there are upgrades' was never one of them."

Connor laughed, a good, honest laugh, and Hank pulled him back in for another kiss. Connor pressed against him, his hands sliding over Hank's chest, feeling him through his clothes. Hank wasn't sure if at his age he could still blush, but he felt a twinge of self-consciousness as Connor's hands roamed over his older, out-of-shape body. Could he really make Connor happy, the way Connor deserved? Was he good enough?

In just that moment Connor bent his spine in  _just_ the right way and moaned softly into his mouth - the most erotic, sweet sound Hank had ever heard in his life - and Hank promptly put those thoughts on hold.

Hank grabbed Connor around the waist and flipped them over, laying Connor on his back and climbing over him, moving his attention back to Connor's beautiful neck. Connor gasped, squeezing Hank's waist between his thighs, clawing at Hank's back to keep him close. Hank's lips moved down Connor's neck, kissing the divot between his neck and collar. Connor arched his head back.

" _Hank_ ," he groaned, a tremble running through his frame, "is this real? I mean… Y-you, and I, together…?"

Hank's lips left Connor's chest and he glanced up, moving to look Connor in the eye. He raised a hand to touch the side of Connor's face, and Connor responded by covering Hank's hand with his own.

"Yeah, you and me. If that's what you want." he said. Connor squeezed Hank's hand, his face relaxing in complete relief. Hank smiled at him. "I'm not gonna come up with any more excuses, I promise. I'm sorry for what I said yesterday, for forcing you to socialize, for pushing you away. I was just…" Hank shook his head, sighing. "I was fucking terrified."

"It's okay, Hank. I've been scared too. There was a grain of truth to what you said, however, about how much time we've been spending together. That's why I went to the Blueblood Lounge tonight." Connor craned his neck to press a kiss to Hank's lips. "I'm learning a lot about myself, about the person that I'm becoming, and there's little point in denying that spending time with you has molded much of what I am. But I don't think that's a bad thing. I think it's amazing."

Purely because he couldn't stop himself, Hank leaned down to kiss Connor again, and then again. His heart was positively bursting. He couldn't remember the last time he felt like this, so full of light and love and  _feeling_. He'd been numb for so long, even before Cole passed away, even before he found himself stuck in a loveless marriage.

Minutes passed like a dream. Hank couldn't remember the last time he made-out with someone on the couch like a teenage hornball trying not to wake up his parents, but it was fair to assume it had been a long fucking time. Connor responded so naturally to his every touch, it was hard to imagine that Connor wasn't made for this, or more specifically, that he'd never done anything like this. Hank was the first person Connor had ever kissed. That fact alone made the pit of Hank's stomach burn with some kind of possessive satisfaction. His earlier rhetoric of 'taking it slow' seemed so hypocritical in hindsight. He didn't want to go slow. He wanted to go full speed, he wanted to teach Connor every kind of pleasure there was and then invent a few more, he wanted to watch Connor come completely undone underneath him, he wanted him messy and begging and  _demanding_  and completely at Hank's mercy.

They broke apart, if only to give Hank a moment to breathe. Connor's eyes were unfocused and beautifully bleary. "Normally around now, I'd be asking you how your day went," Connor mused, splaying his hands over Hank's chest. "I still want to ask, of course, but I think I prefer  _this_ over our nightly chats."

Breaking through the thick haze of arousal, the earlier events of his day suddenly hit Hank like a brick to the back of the head. He snapped up, sitting on his legs. "Oh,  _shit!_ "

Connor sat up abruptly, eyes wide and alert, hair adorably mussed. "W-what? What's wrong?"

Hank almost laughed, both because Connor looked more frazzled than he'd ever seen him and because he couldn't believe he'd forgotten something as important as telling Connor such incredible news. Then again, he'd had a pretty good distraction.

"Nothing's wrong." Hank slid his hands down Connor's arms, coming to rest on his wrists. "Connor, Fowler wants you on this Harding murder case. He's calling you in as a sort of deviant specialist." Connor's eyes became round. His LED spun yellow, flickering. "You haven't been reinstated - not yet - but you'd be my partner for the duration of the investigation. It's not exactly what you wanted, I know, but it's a good fucking start, right?" Connor continued to stare, frozen. Hank frowned in concern. "Connor?"

Connor tossed his arms around Hank's neck and hugged him, his face buried tightly against Hank's neck. Hank wrapped his arms around him, nuzzling his nose in Connor's hair. His hair smelled sweet and floral.

"You okay baby?" Hank asked after several moments of silence. Connor nodded, slowly pulling away from the embrace. His eyes were wet again but his lips were quirked in the small shape of a smile.

"I'm not sure why I'm crying this time," Connor admitted with a weak chuckle, "I have absolutely nothing to be unhappy about right now."

Hank raised a hand to gently swipe some of Connor's tears away, like Connor had done for him earlier. That seemed a good metaphor for their relationship up until this point, if Hank went for that kind of horoscope-style symbolism. "People cry because they're happy, too." Hank pointed out.

Connor's face screwed in confusion. "From a logical standpoint, crying doesn't seem to make any sense. Its purpose seems wildly inconsistent."

"Welcome to personhood. Just wait until you see a fucking ASPCA commercial for the first time."

Connor joined his hands behind Hank's neck, pulling them both back down onto the couch. Hank followed without question. "I've learned something else about myself, just a moment ago." Connor purred, ghosting his lips over Hank's. Hank chuckled, his mind still reeling with the realization that this was really happening, he'd just really spent the last ten minutes making out with Connor on his couch.

"And that is…?"

Connor's mouth pulled into a sly grin. "I think I like it when you call me 'baby'."

Holy fuck. Despite all the healthy food he'd been coerced into eating lately, Hank was positive his heart was  _not_ strong enough to hear things like that coming out of Connor's mouth.

So he kissed him again. And again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ya’ll thought Darius was not to be trusted, but little did you know he was actually (indirectly) the second-best wingman in this story HA (the best is Mike, obviously) FINALLY our boys have come around. Surely nothing beyond this point will go wrong, surely these two lovebirds will just fall into domestic bliss and live happily ever after without a single! roadblock! along the way! 
> 
> Hope you all had a fun, spooky Halloween! I really wanted to write up a Hankcon Halloween fic of some kind but I'm already working on too many fics rn T___T


	7. Chapter 7

_8:30 am_

Connor's eyes opened, his visual processors quickly adjusting to the light streaming into the room from the kitchen. He immediately recalled the events of the previous day; visiting the Blueblood Lounge, meeting Mike and Darius, coming home to confess properly to Hank. Touching Hank. Kissing Hank. There was _a lot_  of kissing. Hank hadn't pushed him away this time, and Connor truly felt like something had changed between them, but it was a good change. They were both moving in a different direction but they were heading there together. That's how Connor felt.

And then of course, Hank told Connor that he was being called in to assist with a case, a case he already knew a fair bit about thanks to Hank. 'Icing on the cake', so to speak.

They'd kissed on the couch for nearly an hour. Connor thought that perhaps there was something to be said for repressing emotions every now and again. Eventually they settled down and cuddled up to watch a bad movie before Hank fell asleep. Connor remembered nothing after that. He certainly didn't remember scheduling stasis. Connor ran a quick diagnostic to determine what happened.

_Sleep mode automatically activated at 11:14pm April 7th 2039_

_Reason: Abnormal stress to system, internal temperature critically high, power saving mode recommended, priority sleep mode activated_

_Current Status: Operating at 100% efficiency_

Connor allowed himself a small smile. He'd exhausted himself. For the first time in his life he'd needed to sleep for the same reason humans slept.

Connor's head was resting on something soft and warm, something he identified immediately as Hank's shoulder. He turned his head just barely. Hank was fast asleep, head tipped back and resting on the back of the couch, his arm still draped over Connor's shoulders. He was softly snoring, chest rising and falling with gentle breaths, his pulse thumping a soft, calm rhythm. Connor let his head fall back onto Hank's shoulder for a moment, savoring the feeling of  _this_ , whatever this was, this serene, soft moment that seemed to somehow exist in its own bubble of time and space.

After approximately three minutes, Connor recalled that 1) Both he and Hank had a job to do today, and 2) Hank was most likely going to wake up in a lot of pain and with a very numb arm. He carefully sat up, realizing only then that Sumo was sleeping on their feet, sprawled out on his side. Numb feet then too, possibly.

Connor turned to observe Hank, his processors catching every detail. Over the last couple of months, Hank had undergone several small changes in his appearance that Connor was certain were obvious to everyone who knew him, not just an android programmed to notice things that others might not. The bags under Hank's eyes were all but gone, as was the rosy, blotchy discoloration of the skin that tended to accompany alcohol abuse. His skin looked healthier and his hair was clean and trimmed. He'd lost a little weight - the only thing Hank seemed to have noticed himself, rather proudly - but Connor didn't want him to lose another  _ounce_ because for reasons Connor couldn't express in words, he liked Hank just the way he was. He found his body very appealing.

Connor realized suddenly that he didn't precisely know what the concept of 'attraction' meant to him. Hank was the only person he'd ever been attracted to. Even Darius, for all his good looks and charm, hadn't triggered any sort of reaction in him. He could identify the attractiveness of others, but they couldn't make Connor experience what he felt when he looked at Hank. Connor knew by now that Hank didn't necessarily share Connor's sentiments about his own self-image. Hopefully in time that would change.

Connor was so absorbed in his thoughts, it took him a second longer to recognize that Hank was waking up. Predictably, Hank did so with a grunt and pained groan.

" _Shit_ ," Hank hissed, lifting his head slowly and with care, " _Ughh_. God dammit."

"Good morning Hank," Connor said with a grin. He wasn't exactly happy to see Hank in pain, but he couldn't help but find the whole situation endearing.

Hank blinked, his eyes moving to locate Connor beside him. He offered a lopsided smile, slowly and painstakingly stretching his arms above his head. "Mornin'," he said with a yawn. He shook out his right arm, groaning. "Arm's all pins and needles, but I guess it's fine if you were usin' it."

Connor grinned. "I didn't exactly mean to, but you were very comfortable."

Hank issued a gravelly laugh. "Yeah, I'll bet."

All the movement and talking stirred Sumo from sleep and he heaved a long, heavy sigh, rising to his feet to shake, stretch, and then wander sleepily to the door to be let out.

"I'm comin, Sumo," Hank groaned, but Connor put a hand on Hank's knee, halting him. Connor leaned in to press a kiss to Hank's cheek, scanning him to catch the small spike in Hank's pulse.

"I'll take care of it. Sit right here and I'll be back with something that'll help your neck."

"Wha-? Connor-"

Connor firmly ignored Hank's drowsy protests and took Sumo outside. Sumo never needed long in the morning, so when he was finished sniffing and relieving himself, Connor brought him back inside and poured some food in his bowl. As Sumo casually ate his breakfast, Connor came up behind the couch and slid his hands over Hank's shoulders, his thumbs, pointer and middle fingers immediately seeking out Hank's pressure points. "Okay Hank, relax. Deep breath."

"Connor, you really don't have to-  _hooooly shit_." Hank's protests died the moment Connor's hands started moving. His head fell forward and he issued a low moan of approval. "Jesus fuck. Where the  _hell_ did you learn to do this?"

"I was programmed with extensive knowledge of human anatomy, in case I was ever required as an emergency medic. I know every muscle and pressure point in your body. I suspect that means a lot of long, fantastic back rubs are in your future."

Hank chuckled. "Is this how it's gonna be?" he asked with a gentle grunt when Connor pressed on the back of his neck in just the right way, "Are you ever gonna stop being so unbelievably amazing, or is this just what I have to expect now Mr. Boyfriend of the Year?"

Connor's hands stopped moving. All of his processes halted for a fraction of a second, whirring to catch up with the overwhelming piece of information Hank had so casually tossed out. "Boyfriend?" Connor pushed out softly.

Hank turned his head to glance at Connor over his shoulder in concern. "Err… Yeah. We don't have to… you know, label it, if you don't want. I just thought-"

"No, that's not it," Connor rushed in, smiling, "I want to label it. I really,  _really_ want to label it. I want to be your boyfriend, Hank. Very much. Thank you."

Hank turned a bit more to catch one of Connor's hands, pressing a long kiss to his knuckles. "Please don't thank me for acting like a halfway decent human being," Hank spoke in a low, husky voice. The sound of it caused a reaction in Connor's software that he didn't yet know how to categorize. "Of the two of us, I should be thanking  _you_ for even allowing me to call you something like that. I'm still kinda in shock about it, to be honest with you."

For an answer, Connor bent over to kiss Hank firmly on his mouth. Hank responded to him quickly, one of his hands coming up to brush knuckles gently over Connor's cheek. After a long moment Connor pulled away, staring Hank pointedly in the eye. "You shouldn't be," he said softly. "I sincerely feel like I'm the luckiest android in the world."

Hank smiled at him warmly. "You might also be the dumbest."

"Well, considering I'm the most advanced active prototype Cyberlife has ever engineered, I'd say that's doubtful," Connor quipped with a wink.

Hank's smile grew wider, and in a quick, precise motion he grabbed Connor by his wrist and pulled him over the back of the couch. Connor landed rather ungracefully in Hank's lap, a delighted laugh tumbling from his lips before Hank covered them with his own, kissing him hard. Connor slid his arms around Hank's neck, pulling him closer, eagerly welcoming Hank's tongue into his mouth, shivering when Hank unintentionally licked over some of his sensors. After several feverish moments they pulled apart. Hank grinned at him, a glimmer of triumph in his eye.

"Did ya see that coming, you advanced bastard?"

"Yes. I had twenty-seven options to counter you before you'd even made your move."

Hank laughed through his teeth. "Damn. What am I gonna do with you?"

Connor leaned in to touch their foreheads together. He enjoyed this form of closeness. It was a gesture that was intimate in a way he couldn't explain, a sort of softness that made his thirium pump stutter. "Anything you want, for as long as you want," Connor answered sincerely. Hank's eyes widened, a look of surprise rippling over his face. For a moment Connor feared he'd overstepped, or went too far too soon. He was going to have to be better about reviewing his responses before he said them aloud.

"You really mean those things, right?" Hank asked softly. "You aren't just saying that kind of stuff because you think it's what I wanna hear? Or because you think you have to say them, because you're in a relationship or something?"

It was Connor's turn to look surprised. "No," he answered firmly. "I don't have a program to assist me with this particular form of intimacy. I wasn't designed with romantic relationships in mind. Whatever I might say while we are engaging in romantic activities are created solely from the central AI processing portion of my system, which is not linked to any program."

"Layman's terms, Connor."

Connor paused for a moment to rephrase. "It's me," he said finally. "When I say those things, it's coming from me. Because it's what I feel."

Hank's expression hardened, his lips forming a line. That fear reappeared, a stray worry that perhaps some of the things Connor was saying were unacceptable at this phase in their relationship.

"Hank, if I've said anything that offends you, or-"

"Fuck, no. You haven't said anything bad. It's just…." Hank sighed, shaking his head. "When you say stuff like that, I feel like there's no way this can be real. I never thought I'd ever hear words like that, not from anyone. It's a lot to accept." He smiled, somewhat sadly. "In a good way, I mean. It's just gonna take time for me to get used to it."

"I hope you get accustomed to it quickly, because I'm finding it difficult to keep those thoughts to myself at present."

"Well, I'm finding it kinda hard to stop kissing you at every damn opportunity, so maybe we both need to take it down a notch. Ot at least make sure we control ourselves at work."

 _Work_. Connor had gotten so side-tracked he'd nearly forgotten. He moved to get up. "I should get started on breakfast before we head out. I'll-"

" _Hell_  no," Hank stood up, bracing his hands on his hips to stretch his back out. "I'll make my own damn breakfast today. You need to get ready for your first day back. You can't wear that Cyberlife uniform anymore, either. In the back of my closet there's a blue suit, I used to wear it a lot when I was first promoted to detective. I was slimmer back then so it should fit you okay, but it probably needs to be ironed." He leaned down to peck Connor on the mouth, flashing him a grin before making for the kitchen. "Go on, get changed." he called.

Connor watched him go, feeling light as a feather. It was hard to believe that this was reality, but since androids didn't possess the capacity to dream there was no alternative. Connor stood, unbuttoning his shirt on his way to Hank's bedroom as noises erupted from the kitchen, the sound of pots and pans clattering.

Hank's closet was enormous. Connor had poked around inside many times, mostly to grab clothes for Hank or to borrow shirts and sweaters to wear around the house when his own clothes were in the wash, but he'd never ventured to the far back, the unused corner where Hank stuffed all of his old clothes that he didn't wear anymore. It was here, in this dusty forgotten corner, that Connor found the blue suit.

Connor scanned it as he gently pulled it off its hanger.  _Manufactured in 2025, wool blend with polyester lining, royal blue, men's size 36, black satin tie_. He should have known Hank would have picked out something just a little bit garish, even when trying to impress. It hardly had any signs of wear and tear, meaning either Hank barely wore it after buying it or he'd taken extra special care in keeping it clean. Without fully realizing why, Connor clutched the garment in his hands and pulled it to his face, dialing up his olfactory sensors to catch every single lingering scent. It was clear it hadn't been worn in many years but it still somehow smelled like Hank, perhaps a different Hank, a younger Hank with a very different outlook of how his life would pan out. A Hank that never would have imagined, for even a moment, that several years after he laid this suit to rest his  _android boyfriend_ would be wearing it on his first day back on the job.

Boyfriend. It still seemed so surreal.

Connor changed into the suit, setting his clothes in a neat folded pile on the chair opposite the closet. It fit him surprisingly well, a little long in the arms and a bit too big in the shoulders, but Connor thought it was perfect. If Hank allowed him to keep it, perhaps he'd see about getting it altered to better fit him. His Cyberlife-issued shoes went with the suit just fine, so Connor fetched them from the closet before heading out to the kitchen. Sumo joined him, tail wagging.

"Well? What do you think?" Connor asked from the doorway, fussing with his tie.

Hank turned, frying pan in hand, two eggs sizzling away inside. He eyed Connor up and down and whistled. "Damn," he said with a laugh, "Well, one thing's for sure, you wear that a hell of a lot better than I ever did."

"I doubt that," Connor countered with a grin, "but thank you, regardless."

.

.

.

_10:26 am_

Almost as soon as Connor and Hank walked into the lobby of the precinct, they were being flagged down by Chris Miller, who trotted over to them with unexpected enthusiasm. It looked almost like he'd been waiting for them to arrive, but Connor couldn't think of a single reason why he would.

"Morning lieutenant," Chris said to Hank with a polite nod. He turned his eyes on Connor, his expression immediately becoming more solemn. "Hi, Connor. It's really good to see you back here."

Connor wasn't sure how to reply right away. Only one other human aside from Hank had ever shown any form of eagerness to see him, the last being the officer he saved at the Phillip's residence, who he'd met again at Stratford Tower. And that had only been, presumably, because Connor saved that officer's life.

"It's good to see you too, Chris," Connor answered, which was true. Chris had never been unpleasant to him.

Chris's mouth quirked in an embarrassed half-smile. "Look, um… I just wanted to say that I'm sorry."

Connor frowned. "For what?"

"Yeah, for what?" Hank echoed, clearly confused.

"Well… I could have been nicer to you." Chris answered, scratching the back of his neck awkwardly. "I didn't understand it, when all this deviant stuff started going down. But when Markus spared me, even after I…" He trailed off shamefully, averting his eyes for a moment. "...after the stuff I did, I realized I was wrong. You guys are alive. I just wanted you to know that." He patted Connor's shoulder, albeit awkwardly. "You've got a friend here, okay?"

Connor blinked in surprise. It was a strange but pleasant feeling, hearing something like that from a human who had never even wronged him in the first place, not personally. Chris was more or less apologizing for his previous perceptions. Connor knew he couldn't expect that level of self-awareness from every human at the precinct - Detective Reed sprang to mind - but it was a start.

"Thank you," Connor said with a smile. "Really."

"Yeah." Chris lowered his arm and cleared his throat. "Anyway. Captain Fowler wants to see you two in his office, said to stop by there before getting to work on the Harding case."

Hank gave Chris a friendly slap on the arm, moving past him and motioning for Connor to follow. "Roger that, thanks Chris."

On the way to Fowler's office, Connor pressed in close to Hank's side to speak discreetly. "That was very kind of Chris to say," he said. "I wasn't expecting anything like that."

"Yeah, he's a good kid. I hope you hear a lot of that around here. It's the least anyone can do. Shit," Hank stopped walking suddenly. Connor practically ran headlong into his back. "I never apologized for being a dick to you when we first met, did I?"

Connor put his hands on Hank's shoulders from behind and continued to steer him in the direction of the Captain's office. "We are  _long_ past that, Hank. Several months, a few near-death experiences and a relationship status change past, actually."

Hank conceded with a skeptical snort. Connor released him, allowing Hank to open the Captain's door so they could both pile inside.

Captain Fowler glanced up from his monitor. His eyes fell on Hank first and Connor second, his gaze lingering longer on the latter.

"Still not used to seeing your ass in here before noon," Fowler said, fascinated. To Connor, he added, "Thanks for helping out with this one, Connor. Uh, welcome back."

"It's good to be back, Captain." Connor replied politely.

"S'there anything you need to get to work?" the Captain asked him.

It was obvious this was difficult for the Captain, acknowledging Connor as a sentient being. Not maliciously, of course, but historically Connor knew humans had a difficult time altering their beliefs and associations. It was never a quick process. At this point, Connor simply appreciated the effort.

"Thank you Captain, but all I need is a desk."

"Well, that's good. Just, uh, let me know if that changes, okay?" Captain Fowler sat back in his seat, criss-crossing his hands over his stomach. "Look, there was a development. A new witness, an across-the-street neighbor who left town shortly after the murder took place. She called the precinct when she heard about the murder, apparently she saw someone leaving the estate right before she left for the airport, but didn't think anything of it at the time. I need you two to go down there and get her statement." He glanced at Connor again. "Do you need time to get caught up on the specifics of the case?"

Connor smiled awkwardly. He couldn't exactly admit that he'd already walked the crime scene from inside Hank's pocket, or that he'd gotten ample time to go over the case file in the comfort of Hank's kitchen. "I can download everything I need from the database." he answered instead.

.

.

.

_2:16 pm_

After returning to the precinct, both Connor and Hank had a hurry in their step. They'd gotten their first lead out of their first witness, and both of them knew that time was of the essence.

Their witness, fifty-one year old Shelley Park, was home the day of the murder. She saw no one enter the property - she hadn't even seen the victim return home - but while she was loading a suitcase into her car, she noticed someone leaving in a hurry. A man with a medium build wearing a black hoodie and grey track pants with a white stripe, assumed to be caucasian based on his hands being the only glimpse of skin she could make out. He left the estate from what looked like the back entrance, and went South toward the downtown area. It was vague, but it was enough.

Hank sat down behind his desk and Connor stood behind him, leaning on the back of his chair. Hank swiped his middle finger over his monitor's screen to wake it up, and again to access his files. He scrolled until he found the CCTV and drone footage from the day of the murder.

"Lots of people came and went that day, but until now we didn't know who the hell we were looking for." Hank murmured, selecting the camera in the best position to catch someone heading Southwest from the Harding estate. "Now let's just hope there aren't fifteen assholes running around in black hoodies."

"That would be unfortunate." Connor agreed.

For the next several minutes they poured over the footage, watching countless people walk up and down the street. Three men with medium builds walked by in black hoodies, but only one was also wearing grey track pants with a stripe.

"Looks like we found our guy," Hank murmured, pausing the footage. Connor squinted at the screen, cursing under his breath.

"We can't run facial recognition on him if we can't actually see his face."

"He's still heading South. We have a subpoena for all the CCTV footage within a ten block radius, we can still catch him."

Hank pulled up the next series of timestamps and footage. For close to an hour they went over hours of footage, playing a bizarre game of hide-and-seek with their suspect. They found him on almost every camera. He didn't make many turns, he never let his face be seen, and he never broke stride. He was going  _somewhere_ , that much was certain, but Connor was beginning to worry they'd lose him without a single clue as to where he might be going next.

"What the fuck?" Hank paused the footage, turning his head to shoot Connor a bewildered expression. "You saw that, right?"

"Yes I did," Connor answered softly, frowning at the screen. "Play it back."

Hank did. And then again, and once more for good measure. Hank sat back in his chair and ran his hand over his mouth. "He just fucking disappears."

Connor crossed his arms. "It appears so."

Hank played back the footage from the suspect's last sighting. The figure in the black hoodie could clearly be seen walking down the sidewalk, weaving around a pair of people coming from the opposite direction. Hank then played the footage from the next camera on the street, footage that should have been near seamless with the last. He was gone. Connor could still see all the other people from the previous footage, but their suspect was gone.

"Both of these videos are time stamped less than  _four_  seconds apart," Hank said. "Where is he? Did he run out into the street?"

Connor shook his head. "I can't believe we wouldn't see reactions from the other people on the sidewalk. A man running into one of the busiest streets downtown, during rush hour? That would turn a few heads."

"So then what?" Hank asked, running the footage back again. "Is he fucking Houdini?"

"Houdini's dead," Connor needlessly pointed out. "He must have gotten away somewhere, but the only other way would be the street. It doesn't make sense."

"We're missing something," Hank muttered.

As Connor leaned in nearer to better see Hank's monitor - pointless, considering proximity wasn't a factor for his optical processors - he caught a whiff of Hank's shampoo and cologne. Both scents on their own were perfectly ordinary and uninteresting, but somehow Connor felt like he wanted to rub Hank's smell all over him so that he could smell like him forever.

_Error_

Connor quickly reset his current objective, disturbed at how easily he could become distracted. He wondered for a brief moment if Hank was having similar problems, though he quickly reminded himself that Hank wasn't new to relationships and feelings of romanticism like he was. Hank could probably control himself much more effectively.

"There, see that?"

Connor was pulled out of his ruminations by Hank's voice, his attention drawn back to the screen. Hank was pointing at the corner of the boutique on the far left. He played it back. This time, Connor caught an odd flash of movement by the side of the building. It looked almost like the wall had shifted.

"Sorry, I… I should have caught that." Connor said, slightly mortified. "If I'd more closely analyzed the footage, I-"

"Connor," Hank started in a soft voice, "don't apologize. You might be a perfectly crafted crime-solving android, but I'm a detective too. We're partners, okay?"

Despite the fact that Connor still knew he shouldn't have missed something like that, Hank's words helped tremendously. "Right. Thanks."

Hank nodded in understanding. "Now use that damn android brain of yours and help me figure out what the fuck is going on."

Connor reviewed the footage again, analyzing the strange blip. It could have been a glitch, of course, but that didn't feel right. He internally pulled up a detailed map of the city, selecting the street seen in the video. He turned his eyes back to the screen, his mouth falling open.

"Hank, there's an alley there," Connor said. "He slipped into the alley."

Hank looked back at the screen. "Where?"

"He's covered it up somehow, but there is  _definitely_ a gap between those buildings." Connor answered urgently. "We have to get down there."

"Shit," Hank spat, jumping up from his desk and grabbing his coat, "Don't have to tell me twice. Let's go."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is more-or-less the suit that Connor is wearing: [[x]](https://www.hawesandcurtis.co.uk/images/products/mens-royal-blue-twill-extra-slim-fit-suit-super-120s-wool-JKPWME46-B52V-02-800px-1040px.jpg)
> 
> Connor and Hank are on the case! Where will the next leg of their investigation take them?? What will they find there??? (Also, I'm posting this on my birthday! yAY I'm old af!!!!! (✿╹◡╹) )


	8. Chapter 8

_2:58 pm_

Connor found himself standing exactly where their suspect would have been standing the day of the murder, staring up at a narrow, tall board that was wedged between the buildings on either side of it, painted expertly to blend perfectly into the walls. He glanced behind them at the CCTV camera, noting the precision in which the board was placed. Beside him, Hank huffed a laugh.

"Well, here's to sneaky bastards."

Connor reached out to run his fingers over the false wall. "Why didn't anyone notice it and remove it?"

"Why would anyone give a shit?" Hank countered with a shrug. "People are too busy to notice shit like this. Come on," Hank stepped up to the board and placed his hands on the edge. "Help me with this thing, would ya?"

Connor took the other side, and together he and Hank shuffled the board out of the way. As they made their way into the alley, Connor brought up a map of downtown Detroit and put a pin in their current location. They walked until they came upon a fork in their path, two narrow alleys that diverged behind different buildings.

"We'll save time by splitting up." Connor pointed out.

Hank made a disapproving sound, putting his hands on his hips. "I don't know if I'm real comfortable with that, Connor."

Connor's brow drew together. "Why not?"

"Well you don't have a gun, first off."

"Cyberlife never issued me a firearm, Hank. I only picked up guns if I came across them, if the situation warranted a more drastic plan of action."

"I  _know_ that," Hank replied, irritated, "but it's different now."

"Why?" Connor pressed. "What's different?"

Hank shot Connor an exacerbated look. "Because  _we're_ different. You and me."

Immediately, Connor felt a bit foolish. Of course things were different now, how could he not have realized what that meant or how it extended here, to this part of the job?

"I always cared about you, Connor, but this is… Fuck." Hank covered his mouth with his hand, eyes fixed on the dirty alleyway floor. "The thought of something happenin' to you, it's just too much. It's too damn much."

Connor wasn't sure what to say. He was still getting used to the idea of his own mortality. Before, Connor had never been too concerned with his model's safety. If he was destroyed, another RK800 would take his place in order to continue the investigation. It wasn't until Hank raised a gun to his head and asked him, on no uncertain terms, if he wanted to die, that Connor had ever considered the prospect that perhaps no, he didn't want to die. He couldn't discern the reasons right at first, but the closer he came to deviating the more the question pressed on his mind.

After the revolution, Connor hadn't had much reason to think further on the subject. Since he was being prohibited from doing detective work, he didn't find himself in life-threatening situations anymore. Connor realized with a suddenness that he may be in one now. For that matter, so was Hank.

Oh.

So was Hank.

_Software instability_

"This is such a fucking cliche." Hank said with a wry chuckle. "Cops trying to balance their feelings for each other while simultaneously putting themselves in danger. Like some shitty made-for-TV movie."

"Hank," Connor started earnestly, "I promise I'll be careful. This isn't like before, when we first met. At that time, I was only concerned with accomplishing my mission and I didn't care how reckless I had to be to do that. I had no sense of fear or self-preservation, but that's different now." He slid in close by an inch or two, sliding his hands over Hank's and holding them in his. " _You_  made me different."

Hank pushed his head forward and caught Connor's lips in a kiss. It was quick and chaste but meaningful, causing a warm, churning reaction somewhere in Connor's abdomen. He pulled away with a sigh.

"You're right. Hey, I trust you. Just don't act or pursue without making sure I'm there so we can go together, okay? Promise?"

"Promise," Connor answered firmly. "That goes for you too. Don't do anything without me. We're partners, you said so yourself."

Hank curled his hand behind Connor's neck and dragged him in to touch their foreheads together, like some sort of pact had just been made between them. "Roger that."

After a beat, they pulled apart. Connor could see that Hank was getting himself together, summoning back his focus. "Alright," Hank said, "you take left, I take right. Call me if you find anything."

"Got it."

Connor turned on his heel, steeled himself, and marched into the left alleyway with purpose. He couldn't dwell on the 'what-if's if he wanted to help solve this case. Sooner or later he would have to find some sort of equilibrium between his feelings for Hank and his desire to continue detective work, but now wasn't the time. The murder occurred days ago, there was very little chance that the suspect was still here. They were just here looking for clues, that was all.

Somehow, that did little to comfort him.

The alley went on longer than Connor expected. The map he'd been referencing didn't have very accurate information regarding the unused, unseen corners of the city, so until he reached the end of the alley he hadn't been sure what to expect.

A red steel door worn with age and neglect stood like a sentry at the end of the alley. Connor stepped closer, analyzing everything he could see, though there wasn't anything of note. No fire escape or ladder that could take their suspect up and out of the alley, no sign that anyone had been laying low. Just the door. Connor scanned the surface of the door; no discernable fingerprints. He came nearer, observing the doorknob. Broken. He wedged the tip of his finger into the crack between the deadbolt and the wall and it came free easily, the door creaking open an inch.

Immediately, Connor called Hank. In three minutes Hank arrived, mildly huffing, gun in hand.

"Shit," Hank muttered, looking at the door. "What is this, an office building?"

"I believe so," Connor answered. "I've already done a search on the property, it's been disused since 2030."

"Alright," Hank planted himself in front of the door and jabbed a finger at Connor, "you, behind me."

Connor obeyed without question, settling in a little to Hank's right, all of his systems on high alert. Hank nudged the door open and led the way inside, his gun pointed at the ground, arms cautiously slack. The smell that hit Connor's processors was thick and musty and a cloud of dust kicked up around them the moment they entered, forcing Hank to pull his arm up to cough into the back of his wrist. It was clear the building had been abandoned for some time; the paint on the walls was peeling and faded, and almost every square inch of the walls just inside the door were covered in washed-out graffiti. Connor scanned the room, searching the DPD database for specifics on each tag. His search garnered no hits of interest.

They moved on down the hallway straight ahead of them. The hallway opened up into a room that once may have been some sort of a storage room. The graffiti on the walls was becoming more sparse and empty beer cans and cigarette butts littered the floor, making Connor cautious where he stepped. Teenagers, probably. Hank sighed in disappointment and lowered his gun completely, letting it hang at his side.

"I doubt our guy stuck around. He probably just zipped through here to avoid being caught on the cameras. But if we can find the way out of here, we might be able to figure out which way he went."

Connor was still focused on the items strewn about on the floor, frowning at a stain in the far corner that was showing up as a luminous blue spot in his HUD. He stepped nearer, scanning the substance. It was undoubtedly blue blood, no longer visible to the human eye, faded to almost nothing.

"What do ya got?" Hank asked, appearing to notice the source of Connor's interest.

"I believe it's thirium." Connor knelt next to it, glancing back at Hank with a preemptive look of apology. "Hank, here's fair warning: I'm going to test a sample."

Hank groaned. "Fucking hell, that's a whole new level of disgusting now. I'm gonna have to introduce you to the concept of mouthwash if we're ever gonna kiss after an investigation ever again."

Connor grinned. "My mouth automatically produces a non-toxic antiseptic fluid after every sample. And you know, the human mouth has a  _significant_  amount of germs-"

"Yeah, yeah, dogs have cleaner mouths than we do, I get it. But I'm still not going around licking blood off the ground."

"I suppose not," Connor answered, running two fingers over the dry patch of blue blood. "That thing about dogs is a myth, though."

Hank's expression became mildly horrified. "Shit, really?"

Connor touched the pads of his fingers to the tip of his tongue.

_Thirium "Blue blood"_

_Model unknown_

_Serial number unknown_

_Sample too decomposed for accurate analysis_

Connor stood, rubbing the dried, dusty thirum between his fingers. He looked around the room, doing a sweeping scan. There were several more spots just like his sample, all of them appearing to differ in age and amount.

"I think I know why the board was blocking the alley," Connor speculated aloud. "I believe this was a temporary refuge for androids fleeing the streets during the mass android purge months ago."

"Makes sense," Hank said, glancing around. "And after everything calmed down and the androids came out of hiding, some jackass kids found a great place to come when they wanted to rebel against their parents." The chuckle that followed was fond. "Ah, memories."

Connor made a mental note to ask Hank about his rebellious youth in depth at a later time. "That also means that our suspect is likely an android, if he knew to come here."

"Possible. But it looks like gangs used to frequent here, too." Hank gestured to the door. "Come on, let's find a way out of here and figure out where our Mr. Hoodie went." Connor nodded and followed Hank out, nearly running into Hank's back a second time that day when Hank unexpectedly stopped at the end of the hall. "For the record," Hank started, tossing Connor a sly look over his shoulder, "it'd take a lot more than some dried blood to keep me from kissing you."

Connor's thirium pump felt as though it had just expanded somehow, which Connor knew was impossible but that didn't make it feel any less real.

"As much as I appreciate the sentiment, you might feel differently depending on what  _exactly_ I put in my mouth."

"Yeah, I'll cross that bridge when I get to it," Hank quipped, continuing on toward the next room just beyond a shorter hallway and a stairwell that spiraled up and up. Connor followed close behind, eyes lingering on the stairs. Although he wanted to check out the upper floors, the idea of splitting up again didn't sit well with him. They had time. Once they did a sweep here on the first floor and secured another exit, they could explore upstairs together. Connor knew that wasn't the most efficient approach, but just at the moment, he didn't particularly care. It felt right, and that was enough.

The moment they entered the next room, Connor realized that checking out the upper floors may not be entirely necessary.

The words ' _I'M SORRY_ ' were scrawled over the decrepit walls countless times, peppered with smaller mentions of rA9 and numerous variations of the original message, all of them vague apologies, all of them panicked. Hank cursed under his breath.

"Okay, maybe our guy stuck around longer than we thought."

"Look," Connor approached a dirty, recently disturbed mat laying on the ground amid a small pile of magazines and worthless objects. "Someone has been squatting here." He picked up the magazine on the top of the pile, and his security systems buzzed with alerts. "As recent as yesterday. This magazine is dated April 6th."

" _Shit_ ," Hank spat, drawing his gun again. "Any chance he's still here?"

"I'm not sure," Connor answered, continuing to scan the room. No food, no water, no signs of human life anywhere. The person staying here was almost certainly an android. Connor's eyes moved back to the walls. Written in bold letters over several of the frantic apologies was the sentence, ' _rA9 FORGIVE ME_ '. Connor quickly ran the handwriting against the examples at the scene of the murder. No match.

Connor turned to relay this information to Hank and froze. At the exact moment, a third person had entered the room from the other door. He wore a black hoodie and grey track pants, holding a plastic bag in his hand containing more magazines. His hood was hanging down around his shoulders, exposing his face and more importantly, the LED on his temple that was burning red with pure, animalistic panic. His eyes were large and his lips were parted in horrified surprise. Connor immediately surveyed his options.

_> Protect Hank_

_> Order suspect to cooperate_

_> Protect Hank_

_> Reassure suspect_

_> Throw my entire fu̷c͔̱̭k̨̟in̜̟͈̞̞͔g̡̯͔ body in front of Hank, make sure no ha̼̪̜͚̻̣̟r̺̱̘m͉͕̜̲͎ ͞co͖̼̟̲̫̰͚m̝̗͎̬̯̲̣͟e͏͍͙̮̱̣͈s̵̠ ͍̟̻̤̺t̜̘̖̣͉o̢̞̫̜ͅ ̜͕͎͔h̻i̮̩͙͎̰̥͝m̶͍ _ _**no m̪͈̼̯̻͓̃̑̃͠a̸̿ͯ̚t̳̟̞̹̰̠̉̏ͦ̓̅̾͐t̙̤͕̼͈ͥ́́ͩ́e͓͔͙͈̭ͤͭ͊͢ͅr͙͎̹͒ͨͮ ̴ͪ͑̐̊w̛̆̋̏̅ͣh͏̘̭̠̮̻̳̤a̮ͫ̍ͪt̨̟̬͖̪̆ͬ̄̿̾̚ͅ** _

_Error_

_Options unclear_

Before Connor could begin to sift through the new errors in his program, Hank's gun was aimed at the android, lightning fast. "Freeze!" Hank barked. "Put your hands where I can see em, and get down on the ground!"

The android dropped his bag and bolted from the room, back the way he came. Hank cursed and gave chase. Connor switched his glitchy program to manual so as not to receive any more errors and tore off after them, quickly overtaking Hank. Hank yelled something but Connor couldn't hear him, hot on the suspect's heels.

The android raced for the front doors but Connor cut him off, hoping to redirect him back into the hallway and into Hank's line of fire. Instead, he made a dash for the staircase, sprinting up the stairs three at a time. Connor matched him step for step, their frantic footfalls making an awful metallic racket up one floor and then another.

" _Stop_!" Connor shouted to absolutely no avail. The android skidded around the next corner, kicking a box at Connor before continuing on to the fourth floor; Connor dodged it successfully but it slowed his ascent. He made up for it by hopping up onto the railing and leaping to the fourth floor landing, grabbing the railing and pulling himself up and over. He saw the android throw himself into the door at the top of the stairs - the roof exit, he realized - and Connor pushed himself to reach the door before it could be locked or barred. He rammed his shoulder into it and burst onto the roof, his optical units adjusting instantly to the sudden bloom of the bright midday sun.

Connor had been expecting a fight or at least a struggle once the suspect found himself trapped on the roof with nowhere to go, but Connor found himself being neither kicked or punched or attacked in any variety. The android stood motionless on the edge of the roof, looking down at the street below, frozen in indecision.

_Combat mode deactivated …. Negotiation mode engaged_

"You don't want to do that," Connor called out, taking a careful step forward. "We can talk about this. You're not in any trouble, I just want to  _talk_."

The android laughed sharply, cold and curt. He was  _shaking_ , nearly untraceable to the eye but Connor's optical output was dialed up to 100% and he could see the terrified tremor moving through the android's plastic frame. "You don't want to talk. You want to destroy me." The android teetered dangerously on the edge. "I deserve to be destroyed."

"I'm not going to let anyone destroy you," Connor reasoned, and possibly for the first time, he meant it. Before he became a deviant himself, he never hesitated to lie to a deviant in order to gain a confession. He knew very well they were all going to be destroyed, no question, but he had no qualms offering false promises of safety in order to earn their momentary trust. Things were different now. Connor was no longer following Amanda's orders or operating under Cyberlife's programming. He was only interested in justice. "You aren't property anymore, you are a person. You'll be treated with respect."

The android turned his head, glancing fleetingly at Connor with wild eyes. "That's not true. You're an android too, you know things haven't really changed. We aren't 'people' to them. I don't know what we are, but we're  _not_  equal."

The interrogator in Connor wanted to follow up that remark with ' _Is that why you killed the Chairman?_ ' but the negotiator in him knew that would be a dangerous inquiry, what with the android so close to the edge of the roof. "I  _promise_ you, I only want to talk. Please, come away from the edge." The android glanced back again, eyes round and scared. Connor saw a glimpse of trust, of hope perhaps, and he immediately attempted to build on it. "My name is Connor. What's yours?"

The android's eyes darted away. His shoulders slumped. "Thomas."

"Thomas," Connor repeated, risking another step forward. "Please come down from there, Thomas. I just want to talk, okay? Just talk with me for a little while."

Hesitantly, Thomas moved away from the edge of the roof, but only by a couple of feet. He refused to move any closer. Perhaps it was his version of a compromise. Connor showed his hands, just to prove that he was here as a friend. Thomas seemed to relax a little more as a result, his LED flickering yellow.

"Thank you for doing that, Thomas."

A moment later, Hank burst through the door, gun pointed, chest heaving with heavy breaths. Connor immediately put himself between Hank's gun and Thomas, an arm spread in both directions as a gesture of calm.

"Put the gun down, Hank. Everything's fine. We're just talking."

Hank's eyes flicked to Thomas, then back to Connor. He lowered his gun, appearing to read the situation. "Are you okay?" he asked Connor worriedly. Connor nodded. Hank sighed hugely, anchoring his hands on his hips in an attempt to get his breath back. "Fucking hell. Must be nice not needing to  _breathe_."

"This is Hank, Thomas," Connor explained, eager to get Thomas back to a calmer state of mind. He didn't want to lose that single shred of trust he'd earned. "He's my partner, he's not going to hurt you. He wants to help."

Thomas's eyes were trained on Hank. "He's a human."

"I want you to trust me, Thomas. Hank is a very dear friend to me, and he's an honorable person. He knows that we are alive, and he's risked a lot to help our cause." Behind him, Hank grunted in approval.

Thomas shook his head. He backed up an inch. "He won't understand."

"Maybe not, but I will," Connor reasoned. "If you'd just tell me what happened, we can help you."

Thomas stared at the two of them for a good long moment, conflicted. He hugged his arms, staring at the ground. "I didn't  _want_ to do it," he muttered miserably. "I swear I didn't."

Connor stepped closer. "Do what, Thomas? What did you do?"

"No," Thomas shook his head, his face scrunching up in panic and his eyes brimming with tears. "No, I can't tell you. I can't."

"You can tell me, Thomas." Connor said earnestly.

Hank was standing still as stone, being careful not to startle their companion. "If you tell us what happened, son, this will all be so much easier."

"I  _can't_ ," Thomas stressed, his voice breaking with emotion. "He- he won't let me."

"He?" Connor asked gently. "Who is 'he'?"

Thomas held his arms more tightly, shook his head again and turned his eyes away. Connor took another step forward, extending a hand for Thomas to take. "It's okay. Thomas, if you just come away from there and come with us, we can help you. We will listen to you. If there's someone you're afraid of, we can help, I  _promise_." Thomas turned his eyes up, looking at Connor with tears shining on his cheeks. His gaze glided to Connor's outstretched hand, considering. "Will you trust me?" Connor asked him gently.

"I don't want to be destroyed," Thomas uttered in a soft, frightened voice.

"I won't let that happen. And neither will Hank."

"Do you promise?" Thomas asked sharply, and Connor could hear that note of desperate hope in his voice again. Connor nodded firmly.

"I promise, Thomas. If you come with us and tell us what happened, I will do everything in my power to keep you safe."

Thomas loosened his grip on his own arms. He looked at Connor's hand again, and slowly, shakily, he took a step toward them, his arm extending to take hold of Connor's hand.

Suddenly, he froze. Thomas's eyes went blank and the emotional, weary expression he wore became wooden and lifeless. He looked like the androids at the Cyberlife warehouse, more a product than a person, not yet awake.

"Thomas?" Connor called, bewildered. No reply, no movement at all. The only indicator of his mood was his LED, suddenly running solid red.

"What the hell happened?" Hank asked.

"I don't know. Thomas, are you alr-"

Thomas turned away from them, his movements precise and mechanical - cold - and returned to the edge of the roof. Connor sprinted forward but it was too late. Thomas pitched himself over the edge. Connor fell to his knees at the edge and watched Thomas fall, watched him hit the pavement below with a sickening crack, pieces of him scattering over the sidewalk and spilling into the street.

Somehow, it felt as though the world had just closed in and become very narrow, like Connor was seeing everything through a tunnel. Everything felt slower, soundless. He couldn't tear his eyes away from Thomas's mangled body below, or the growing crowd that circled around him in shock and dismay. Somewhere behind him, Connor heard Hank cursing loudly, and a moment later Hank's voice was much closer and a hand was squeezing his shoulder from behind.

"Connor!"

The world came crashing back, sound and sight returning to normal. Connor ran a self-diagnostic, and found himself surprised not one bit when the results returned nothing. It was never his program. It was everything else.

"Connor, come on, get away from there."

Connor allowed himself to be pulled back and away from the edge of the roof, and before he realized what was happening he was being pulled into an embrace. Hank held him tight, one hand braced gently behind Connor's neck, the other firmly on the low of Connor's back. Connor slowly raised his arms, grabbing fistfuls of Hank's jacket. He wasn't sure why he was being hugged when it was Thomas who just needlessly jumped to his death. One moment he'd been alive, the next he was a disjointed mess of parts strewn over the sidewalk on display for everyone to see. Death was cruel and sudden and so, so pointless.

"Hey," Hank breathed in Connor's ear, "listen to me. You didn't do that, okay? You're not responsible. His guilt and his fear got the better of him. You did your best, you got that?"

Connor wasn't sure what to say. Hank almost seemed to know what he was feeling before Connor could even identify it. Part of him felt rotten for allowing Hank to comfort him like this when he'd just failed so spectacularly, when Thomas's broken body lay forty feet below them as a result.

"How did you know?" Connor muttered into Hank's shoulder, hugging him a little more tightly. "That I needed to hear that, I mean."

Hank pulled away slowly, raising a hand to gently touch Connor's face. "You kiddin'? You don't just see something like that and  _not_ feel like absolute shit. I've been doing this for a while, Connor. I know you were cold as ice in the beginning, but you're not a machine anymore. Only a machine could see that and not need a goddamn hug."

"Who gave  _you_  a hug the first time you saw a suspect die?" Connor asked, a pitiful attempt at humor. Hank offered him a sad smile.

"No one. I didn't have anyone who cared about me enough to give me one. So I went home and drank until I couldn't think about it anymore. Couldn't  _see_ it anymore." Connor found Hank's hand and held it fast in his own. Hank gave him a reassuring squeeze. "I wanna say you get numb to it, but that's bullshit."

"Detective Reed seems to have achieved a certain level of numbness." Connor observed.

Hank sighed. "Yeah, well. We all deal in our own ways. Gavin has his assholery, and I nearly drank myself to death." Hank's eyes moved to Connor's temple, not-so-subtly observing his LED. Connor checked the status of his external feedback. Still processing, still stressed. "Are you gonna be okay? We're gonna have to go down there and deal with that in a minute, and I wanna be sure you can handle it."

"I'll be fine," Connor said. He needed to see this through. It wasn't the outcome he'd wanted, but it was the outcome they were given. There was no point in considering all the things he could have done differently. There seemed little reason to doubt that Thomas had committed the murder, so in essence, the case was solved.

_Case details have been updated_

_New case information available: Suspect may not have been working alone, multiple suspects possible_

_Requires further investigation_

Connor switched off his notifications. He would deal with that later when he and Hank were writing their report about this awful incident, but right now, despite his superior processing power, Connor was discovering the importance of taking life one crisis at a time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welp. RIP Thomas we hardly knew ye
> 
> Connor has a lot to unpack right now, but Hank might just have a sappy/NSFW remedy for that in the next chapter. (Having an android boyfriend should come with a manual.) Though it seems the case has been solved, there appear to be some missing pieces. Any theories? Now's the time to break those out! 
> 
> Just to give you all fair warning, my updates in the near future might not be as timely as they've been. (But I'm hoping it won't change. I've got a few more chapters written already, I just need to edit them) I'm scrambling to finish a Hankcon AU fic for the Hankcon Big Bang coming up, and both Spyro Reignited and Fallout 76 just came out and I've been living like a horrible swamp witch and doing nothing but playing them since they released. (also uhhhhh if you're playing Fallout 76 and you wanna hang out in the wasteland, my PSN tag is OstrichHangover, I need more friendsss) Also Let's Go Eevee comes out tomorrow. Fuuuuck my life. T__T


	9. Chapter 9

"Hey, Connor?" Hank glanced away from the road for a moment to shoot Connor a concerned glance. "I know you're pissed, but you've been quiet for so long I'm starting to think you shut down or something."

Connor sighed, perfectly aware that there was no reason for doing so other than to exhibit his displeasure. "How can Captain Fowler ignore  _clear evidence_  that indicates multiple peoples may have been involved in Steven Harding's murder?" he said, frustrated. "There's no way Thomas wrote all those messages on the walls. His mobility systems were functioning at near 100%. Thomas wasn't acting alone. It might not have even been his idea. Or his  _choice_."

Hank slowed the car to a stop at a red light, dropping one hand off the wheel to give Connor a reassuring pat on the knee. "Look, I'm not disagreeing with you, but the evidence is circumstantial. It's not even close to solid. Our witness only saw one person leaving Harding's home. Two wine glasses on the table, confirmed  _not_ to have belonged to Harding. And I'm afraid inconsistent writing isn't compelling enough to keep a case open."

"The handwriting sample is only one of many inconsistencies in this case," Connor put in. "Why would Thomas claim to be rA9, and then beg rA9's forgiveness?"

"I don't think Thomas was in the best state of mind, Connor."

"Well, okay, but… Thomas's LED was intact. If he wanted to falsify his identity to gain entry into Harding's home, why not simply remove it?"

The light turned green. Hank kept his hand on Connor's knee as he moved through the intersection. "Maybe he didn't think of it. Or he covered it up with a hat."

Connor turned toward the window to watch the houses pass them by. "Maybe."

There was silence for a beat, only the soft hum of the car engine as they drove toward home. Connor felt a hint of guilt for unloading his frustrations on Hank; there was nothing Hank could do to change what happened, so complaining about it seemed self-indulgent and petty at best. Just as Connor began to prepare an apology, Hank spoke up.

"Listen, I know this is frustrating, but Fowler considers this an open and shut case. Justice isn't always interested in specifics. But if something comes up that might be related, I promise you I'll jump on it and hound that crabby bastard until he opens it back up. Okay?"

Connor smiled and slid his hand over Hank's. "Thank you, Hank. Sorry for being so negative."

"It's hard not to be sometimes." Hank answered. He turned them down an unfamiliar street, now heading in the exact opposite direction of home. Connor double-checked his internal GPS to be sure. "For now, though, I think we just need to take our minds off of stuff for a little while."

"Hank?" Connor looked out the window again, confused, "This isn't the way home."

Hank chuckled. "Yeah, no fooling you."

"Where are we going?"

"If I told you, that'd spoil the surprise. And I imagine you're gonna be fucking hard to surprise from here on out, so I'm really gonna enjoy it when I can."

"Does this mean I shouldn't map out possible destinations based on the route you're taking?"

Hank's laugh was almost sinister. "Oh, go ahead and try. This shit ain't on a map."

Connor perked a brow in interest, mouth tugging in a grin. "Did you mean for that to sound so ominous?"

Hank paused in consideration. "I'm a little out of practice with this spontaneous romantic stuff, okay? Work with me here."

.

Six minutes and twenty-seven seconds later they arrived at a small public park, though the posted signs lining the narrow parking area suggested it had closed over an hour ago. Hank pulled off road, driving slowly over the grass, headlights illuminating each tree, bush and walking path in the otherwise pitch-black field. Connor wondered if now was an appropriate time to ask what exactly they were doing here at a public park after hours, but very quickly he saw they were following several different sets of tire tracks, and farther off Connor spotted other vehicles parked in odd formation. Connor frowned, staring through the windshield at the odd gathering of cars, scanning the scene to try and identify what sort of congregation this was. His scan returned nothing.

Nearly two dozen cars were parked in straight lines in front of a large screen that was set up between a pair of bushy bur oaks. Old-fashioned projectors were playing equally old-fashioned commercials on the screen, strange black and white cartoons of various food items dancing and bouncing to grainy music that sounded especially offensive to Connor's sensitive processors. Hank parked the car in an empty space, shut the engine off and moved his seat back a few inches for more leg room.

"What is this place?" Connor asked curiously.

"Drive-in movie. Not too popular anymore, but a couple times a year some people get together and set this up for a few days at a time. I used to try and come down whenever I needed to relax or take my mind off of a case." Hank glanced at Connor in concern. "Is this okay? We don't have to stay, I just thought-"

"Hank, it's perfect," Connor answered, twisting in his seat to lay a hand on Hank's knee. "I've never done anything like this before. I didn't even know anything like this existed." He looked out the windshield again, observing all the other cars. "However, I have a question."

Hank chuckled. "Shoot."

"What are we supposed to do here?"

Hank looked around them as if it were rather obvious. "Nothin'. We sit and watch the movie."

Connor hummed. He looked up at the screen; a movie was beginning, a movie so shockingly old that Connor was certain he was staring through a window at another world altogether.

"Why go to the trouble of setting up an outdoor movie theater when indoor theaters exist?" Connor continued. "Actually, why not just watch the movie at home and save a trip?"

Hank leveled him a stern frown. "Look, do you wanna be here or not?"

"Sorry," Connor offered hastily. "I really do want to be here. It's just odd to me, is all, the human need to seek out group activities for passive socialization."

Hank grinned at him. "You don't have to be sorry, I guess it is kinda weird. I guess a  _lot_  of stuff humans choose to do is a little weird from your perspective, huh?"

"Not all of it. I don't necessarily understand why humans have such a fondness for doing the same activity in a variety of different ways, but," Connor moved closer, resting his head on Hank's arm, "I'm beginning to see the appeal."

Hank shifted just enough to lay his arm over Connor's shoulders. Connor pressed even closer, sitting himself on the armrest console to properly cuddle up against Hank's chest. He didn't need to scan Hank to know his heart rate had accelerated, he could feel its steady thump against his ear. The two of them fell into a comfortable silence, watching the beginning of the movie. The intro was a slow climb, quiet and cryptic, finally falling on a man clutching a snow globe in his hand. He uttered the word "Rosebud", and the snow globe dramatically fell from his hand, shattering.

"That's my favorite Knights of the Black Death song," Connor observed in wonder.

"Holy shit, this is  _Citizen Kane_ ," Hank said. "This movie is almost one-hundred years old, I think. One of the greatest movies of all time, or so they say."

"You haven't seen it?" Connor asked curiously, tilting his chin up to view Hank's face.

"I've never been a big movie buff. I  _know_ about the movie, obviously. Everybody knows about it. Rosebud's the- ah, nevermind. I don't wanna spoil it."

"Rosebud is the brand of Charles Kane's childhood sled, right?" Connor finished. "I just looked up the plot summary online."

"Oh  _come on_ , Connor," Hank groaned.

"Should I not have?" Connor asked, surprised. "Whenever we watch something on TV I usually look up all information and trivia related to it. I haven't mentioned it before now because I didn't think it was relevant."

"Oh my god," Hank covered his face with his hand. "Connor, people usually watch movies to  _enjoy_ the plot, not spoil it for themselves before it's happened. Watching the story unfold is, well, kinda the point."

"I didn't realize. I'll avoid doing it in the future." Connor ran another quick search on drive-in movies just to make sure there weren't any other protocols he was inadvertently stomping into the dirt. The results his search returned made his eyebrows shoot up and his internal temperature rise so rapidly he was quickly overcome with error messages. He craned his neck to glance at Hank again.

"Hank?"

"Yeah?"

"Is this a date?"

Hank returned his look, his mouth turning up in an awkward grin. "Well. It's a little strange that I'm living with my boyfriend before I've even taken him on a real date, don't you think? Crime scenes and the odd trip to the store for toilet paper and dish soap don't exactly scream 'romance'."

Connor smiled, one of his hands climbing up Hank's chest to rest just over his heart. "I also read that drive-ins were once popular spots for couples to engage in illicit activities." He hoisted a knee up and over Hank's legs to slide aptly into his lap. Hank's eyes blew open, his hands gliding to Connor's hips.

"Holy shit Connor," Hank breathed, his pulse beginning to quicken. "I just wanna be clear, I am 100% in the camp of 'let's make out right the hell now', but I didn't come here to cop a feel. I just wanted to go somewhere with you that wasn't work related. You aren't doing this cause you think you have to, right?"

Connor traced the pads of his fingers over the side of Hank's face, his thumb resting on Hank's lower lip. "Stop asking me that," he said softly, leaning in to ghost his lips over Hank's. "I have never done anything with you that I haven't wanted to do. My only complaint is that these moments come so-  _aah,_ " Hank shifted his hips and yanked Connor even closer, their groins slotting together. A delighted tremble flew up Connor's frame. "-infrequently."

"You can't just keep saying shit like that," Hank growled, sucking in a tight breath when Connor ground down against Hank's lap. " _Jesus_ ," he hissed, catching Connor's mouth in a deep, heated kiss. Connor responded with enthusiasm, clutching fistfuls of Hank's jacket. That strange warmth washed over him again, the strong urge to do  _something_ with Hank, something more than what he was programmed for, some kind of next step that he understood the logistics of but not much beyond that. If he had to put a word to it, there was an  _ache_ in him. He wasn't sure how a desire of that nature was even possible. How could an android long for something he'd never even experienced? Something he wasn't even designed to  _do_?

Hank's erection was pressed tight against Connor's groin. Feeling Hank's cock twitching and swelling against him caused an almost violent reaction within Connor's programming, that unnamed warmth spiking his internal temperature by at least two degrees and igniting every ounce of the thirium rapidly pumping throughout his system.

"Hank," Connor gasped, grabbing Hank's shoulders for stability, "let me take care of you. Please." To ensure his point was completely understood he bucked his hips down, gently grinding on Hank's hard-on. Hank issued a hollow groan against Connor's neck, gripping him tight. Connor's hands wandered down to Hank's belt buckle and Hank's breathing hitched. "I want to take care of you, Hank. Please let me. Tell me I can do that for you."

"Connor,  _fuck_ ," Hank nodded, urgently, his breath coming out in short, tight pants. "Y-yeah, just, yeah. Okay."

Connor was already pulling off Hank's belt and tossing it into the passenger seat. Hank moved his seat back enough for Connor to slip down to the floor in front of him, Connor's fingers working at breakneck speed to open the front of Hank's jeans.

Connor felt his entire body tremble with the strangest surge of anticipation he'd ever experienced. He was about to see Hank's cock for the first time. There was absolutely no reason that seeing and touching human genitalia should elicit any positive reaction in Connor's model, or  _any_ model android for that matter, but here he was, on his knees on the floor of Hank's car, yanking Hank's jeans down around his ankles as though his life depended on it. He was in no state of mind to analyze how this desire could exist in his programming, however, so he swatted away every error message and suspended notifications that weren't directly related to what he was about to do. Connor watched with wide eyes as Hank slipped his thumbs under the elastic of his boxers, shifting in his seat to pull them down to join his jeans around his ankles.

Hank's cock bobbed free of his underwear, flushed red and engorged with arousal. Connor's mouth fell open but no sound emerged. Hank was  _magnificent_. Connor had nothing to personally compare it to, of course, but he had access to just about every image of male genitalia on the internet and he was positive that Hank's cock was the most fantastic thing he'd ever laid eyes on. If Connor could breathe he would be left breathless.

Connor reached out to touch it with his fingertips, gently, stroking his fingers delicately over the thick head of Hank's cock and down, down to the base. Hank hummed low in his throat. 7.6 inches from base to tip with a circumference of 5.4 inches, Connor measured every incredible millimeter and stored every detail in his priority memory. He gently circled a hand around the base, marveling at the weight in his hand. How did Hank walk around with this in his pants all day?

"Connor," Hank breathed, reaching out to run his fingers encouragingly through Connor's hair, "you know what you're doin' down there? You okay?"

Connor's eyes turned up to offer Hank a reassuring smile. "I've done some research."

"Research?"

"Yes. On various video pornography websites."

"When did you do that?"

"After our first kiss." Connor admitted, moving his hand in a slow, precise stroke. Hank hissed through his teeth, ending in a groan. "I've thought about a lot of things over the last few days." He pumped his hand again, and again, massaging the tip of Hank's cock with his thumb. "I've thought about  _this_. Touching you, making you feel good."

"The  _mouth_  on you," Hank grumbled, combing his fingers through Connor's hair, letting out a shaky sigh when Connor again stroked his length from base to tip. "How often do you think about it? About us?"

Connor licked his lips, pumping Hank's cock a little more quickly. "Over the last three days, I have had two-thousand, three-hundred and thirteen individual fantasies involving you."

"Fuck, Connor. I ain't no android, but I think we're about even on this one. But mine have been goin' on a  _lot_ longer than three days."

"How long?" Connor asked softly, slowing his strokes. "How long have you had feelings for me beyond friendship?"

Hank let out a breathy, tight laugh. "What a fuckin' time to ask," he said, his hand continuing to comb through Connor's hair. Connor leaned into his touch. "Don't know, exactly. A long damn time. Long enough to have thought about this exact scenario more than a few times."

"Longer than a few weeks?" Connor asked quietly, unbelieving. Hank smiled at him, giving him that fond look that always used to summon error messages into Connor's HUD like a plague.

"Baby, I've pretty much had a thing for you since Eden Club. Maybe even before that."

Connor's eyes blew open in wonder, lips parting without anything meaningful to say. His LED spun yellow, only for a moment, trying to process that enormous piece of information. The desires that were bubbling inside of Connor doubled in ferocity, almost blinding him with an onslaught of sudden error messages that were flagged urgent enough to bypass his suspension.

Connor's focus moved back to the hot, thick cock in his hand. The cleaning fluid in Connor's mouth activated without prompting, coating his tongue in thick liquid so suddenly that Connor closed his lips to keep from drooling. His anticipation was unreal. He was glad he'd suspended priority-level notifications; his body was reacting in ways he was absolutely not programmed for, but just at the moment, he couldn't have cared any less.

He leaned forward, touching his lips to the head of Hank's cock. He suppressed an involuntary shudder, opening his lips to slip the head of Hank's cock into his mouth, flattening his tongue over the tip. Hank groaned, his head falling back against the headrest.

Connor's eyes practically rolled back into his head from the sensation, the taste, the incredible  _weight_ on his tongue, sending him a dozen results ranging from the temperature of Hank's dick to the minerals found in the drop of precum he licked off the tip. He couldn't stop a broken moan from rumbling in his throat, only vaguely aware that his vocal processors were malfunctioning.

After a few moments of getting accustomed to the foreign object in his mouth, Connor hazily recalled what he needed to do to create the maximum amount of pleasure for Hank. Connor hollowed his cheeks, applying gentle pressure as he moved his head forward, several more inches sliding into his mouth, his tongue flattening against the underside of Hank's cock. More fluid flooded over Connor's tongue to help the process along, thoroughly coating his tongue, some of it dribbling from the corner of his mouth and over his chin. Hank's fingers tightened in his hair, breathing deep through his nose.

" _Shit_ , Connor…"

Connor couldn't explain the very specific variety of euphoria that hit him when he fully realized he was responsible for Hank's pleasure, but it was powerful enough to overload all of his processes for a tenth of a second. He quickly refocused, turning up the internal temperature of his mouth by 3.7 degrees to better mimic a human mouth and hopefully create a more pleasant sensation. If Hank's sudden moan was any indication, he was successful. Connor's lips glided up Hank's throbbing length, sucking lightly, lapping his tongue over the thick head before plunging his head back down again, taking Hank deeper. He found a steady rhythm, bobbing his head, listening with rapt attention to each and every pleasured sound Hank was producing as a result. He saved and cataloged every response, eager to use every bit of data to improve Hank's future experiences ten-fold.

His hands found anchorage on Hank's thighs, holding himself steady to sink all 7.6 glorious inches into his mouth, feeling the tip of Hank's cock jab against the back of his artificial throat. He allowed both himself and Hank a moment of adjustment, his nose buried in curly, greying hair that smelled faintly of convenience store body soap. Deep-throating was naturally easy for androids, both because they lacked a gag reflex and also because their 'throat' was an empty, otherwise functionless area. Plenty of space, in other words, for an above-average cock, regardless of whether or not Connor was designed with human copulation in mind.

Hank's other hand flew to Connor's head, fingers tangling in Connor's hair, his voice coming out low and hoarse. " _Fuck_ ," he hissed, his hips twitching, cock completely sheathed in Connor's mouth and throat, "Baby, you feel so fucking  _amazing_. You're doing so great I don't think I'm gonna last."

Connor moaned his approval, his voice still carrying a broken, slightly mechanical inflection. He dragged his lips up, applying a stronger suction, and then back down again, taking in Hank's entire length every time. Hank's heart rate spiked and his temperature raised, his breathing coming out in rough, tight pants. Connor felt Hank's testicles draw up and tighten with the promise of a rapidly impending release and he doubled his efforts, fluid drooling over his lips and down his chin, pooling between Hank's thighs. The idea of bringing Hank to orgasm with his mouth was driving Connor into some kind of frenzy, his voice modulator unhinged and producing a string of desperate moans, his mouth and throat working tirelessly to suck every inch of Hank's cock from root to tip and back again. Hank let out a breathy groan, hissing a curse through his teeth.

"Connor, I'm-  _Fuck_ , I'm gonna come."

A pinprick of rationality in the sea of voracious desire that had become Connor's mind broke through, reminding Connor that no matter how much he wanted to, it wasn't the best idea to consume Hank's ejaculation. Connor pulled his lips from Hank's cock with a wet pop, keeping his mouth open and extending his tongue in anticipation. Hank grabbed his dick in his fist and pumped himself hard and fast. His bleary gaze drew up to find Connor's eyes; when their eyes met Connor felt like he'd been struck by a surge of electricity deep down in his core, something powerful and warm and  _wrenching_ but incredible, like being wound up so tightly he could explode. Hank's expression screwed and his teeth ground together and he came with a long groan, his semen shooting out in thick, hot ropes over Connor's face and tongue. In the exact same moment Connor's body seized, pleasure signals firing violently through his every program and system.

" _Ha-aa-aa-aa-aa-nk_ ," Connor's voice was a broken mess, malfunctioning almost beyond recognition. He wasn't certain what was happening to him, and because he'd suspended notifications there was no quick way to tell. He recovered quickly from whatever it was, his body imitating the quick, deep intake of breath so typical of humans in an attempt to cool down his internal temperature before he overheated.

Hank was frantically pulling up his pants as soon as he'd heard Connor's voice, leaning over to hold Connor's face gently in his hands. He was breathing hard but looking over every inch of Connor he could see, concerned.

"Baby? What's wrong? Are you okay?"

Connor managed to offer up a reassuring smile, his tongue slipping past his lips to lick some of Hank's seed -  _phosphate, citric acid, zinc, calcium, potassium, Hank's sperm, Hank's taste, Hank Hank Hank_  - exhaling a shaky sigh. He lifted his notification ban, the error messages flooding his vision. First and foremost, he ran a diagnostic on his vocal processors, selecting a repair program to fix the error.

"I'm fine," Connor answered softly, his mind still foggy and slow to respond. His voice was back to normal, at least. "I'm sorry if I worried you. I'm not exactly sure what happened."

"Jesus christ," Hank breathed, eyes falling closed in relief. He slid his hands to Connor's shoulders. "I thought I broke you or something."

"I may be new to this, but I don't think that's possible," Connor teased with a quirk of his mouth. He swiped his two first fingers over his come splattered chin and dipped them into his mouth. Although he didn't experience taste as a human would, he was positive Hank's come was delicious. Hank cursed under his breath, watching Connor's movements as if he couldn't look away. "Hank, did it feel good? Did you enjoy yourself?"

Hank laughed through his nose, helping Connor up off the floor of the car and back into his lap, pulling Connor's hips flush with his own. "Are you really askin' me that? After I just blew a load on your face?"

"I want to be certain. There's always room for improvement."

"Room for improvement, shit," Hank grinned, distractedly fussing with Connor's hair, perhaps as a sort of apology for pulling it so much. "If you 'improve' much more, you might just give me a heart attack next time."

"Don't joke about that," Connor chided, half-serious.

Hank reached into the backseat, grabbing a travel-size pack of tissues that was stuffed in the backseat cup holder. He carefully started to clean Connor's face, something Connor almost stopped him from doing for reasons he couldn't easily explain. It was difficult to articulate - without sounding insane - that he wasn't done enjoying the feeling of being coated in Hank's semen.

"What happened to you, there at the end?" Hank asked curiously, wiping off Connor's chin. Connor frowned, assessing some of his most recent error messages. None of them were terribly specific.

"I don't know," he answered. "It wasn't unpleasant. In fact, it felt… kind of incredible. I'm not sure what to compare it to."

Hank gently tilted Connor's head to wipe away the last bit of mess on his left cheek. "Is it that thing you were talking about the other night? About being, uh, mentally stimulated?"

Connor's lips parted, his tongue slipping through to swipe slowly at his upper lip, still savoring the taste of Hank's seed. "I can't be sure, but I believe so. But it was more intense than usual, like all of my pleasure was condensed into a tight ball in my stomach and then-"

"It exploded?" Hank finished with a pleased grin.

Connor blinked in surprise. "Yes, exactly!"

"I think you had an orgasm, baby."

Connor's eyes went wide and his processing unit churned yellow. He accessed the details of the malfunction, analyzing.

_Internal temperature critically high_

_Thirium pump acceleration_

_Vocal processing error_

_Optical unit error_

_Data inconsistency_

_Multiple processing errors_

"That shouldn't be possible," Connor said in wonder. "Experiencing pleasure is one thing, but an orgasm is a biological, chemical response to intense erotic physical stimuli. Not even androids  _programmed_ for sex experience orgasms, they're only programmed to simulate them. And besides, I was the one pleasuring  _you_."

"Goddamn right you were," Hank growled, kissing the corner of Connor's mouth. "Best fucking blowjob of my  _life_ , by the way."

"It just shouldn't be- wait, really?" Connor slid his hands over Hank's shoulders, looking Hank directly in the eye. "That was the best of your life? Honestly?"

Hank chuckled, lifting a hand to Connor's face to trace his knuckles gently over his cheek. Connor's thirium pump stuttered. "Yeah. But it might've had something to do with who was givin' it to me, too. I've never felt like this for anyone else, really. It was, uh, a little more intense."

"What about your wife?" Connor asked in a small voice, unbelieving. The idea that Hank cared more for Connor than his wife of several years was equal parts delightful and sad.

Hank's eyes flicked away for a moment, shaking his head. "I think I loved her, at the beginning. But what we had wasn't… it wasn't  _like this_. We fought all the time, usually went to bed mad. It didn't make me feel the way you make me feel. Even at the best times, I never loved her like I love you. Not even close."

Connor's eyes flew open and every process he was running promptly ground to a halt. All of his processing power went to saving Hank's voice file, analyzing it, and looping it.

> _I never loved her like I love you._

> _loved her like I love you._

> _I love you._

Hank seemed to notice right away that the words he'd said carried more weight than he'd expected. They stared at each other in silence, the crescendo of dramatic music from the ignored movie filling the ringing silence in the car. It didn't seem like Hank regretted saying it. It almost looked as if he hadn't meant for it to come out so casually, more worried about the delivery than the sentiment.

"You love me?" Connor finally spoke, his voice barely above a whisper. Hank lay his hands on Connor's hips, squeezing his fingers into the thick material of Connor's shirt.

"I- yeah, I do. A whole fucking lot. And I'm just realizing now that I haven't really said that out loud before now, which is pretty shitty of m- Connor, are you  _crying_?"

Connor shook his head, vaguely aware of the water solution pooling in his eyes and trickling down his cheeks. "I'm not sad." he said firmly, decisively.

"I know," Hank answered him with a fond smile, wiping some of the tears away. Connor slid his arms around Hank's neck and kissed him deeply, his thirium pump fit to bursting from the surge of emotion he felt wash over him. Hank held him tight, arms locked behind Connor's back. After several moments Connor pulled away, burying his face in the bend of Hank's neck, hugging him tightly. He very seriously considered never ever letting go.

"I love you too," Connor said. "I haven't said it properly, either. But I do, I'm  _certain_ I do. It's the only thing I'm certain of, in fact. Undeniably, inarguably. I love you."

Hank nuzzled his nose into Connor's hair, taking a deep, somewhat shaky breath. "I may not understand why, but damn it if hearing it still doesn't make me the happiest guy in the world."

They stayed that way for several minutes until Connor worried that Hank might need to reposition or breathe or any other human necessity. He moved off of Hank's lap and cuddled in beside him, head back on Hank's chest, Hank's arm back around his shoulders, paying closer attention to the soft thump of Hank's heartbeat than the remainder of the film.

.

"I can't decide if the narratives worked with each other or contradicted each other," Connor said conversationally as Hank drove them home. "Did the answer to Rosebud really tell us anything? Or was it just a red herring to distract the viewer from the disjointed continuity of the film?"

"Yeah, uhh, we're gonna have to watch that movie again sometime probably. I missed the whole first half, could barely pay attention to the second half because I didn't know what the hell was going on, and I don't have the entire plot downloaded into my brain like you do."

"Fair enough," Connor answered with a smile. "I enjoyed the parts I saw."

"Well, that's good. I enjoyed the parts I didn't see, if you catch my meaning." One of Hank's hands moved to grab Connor's, linking their fingers together. Connor curled his fingers in, knowing that he should discourage Hank from driving one-handed but not wanting to release his hand, either.

"I preferred those parts too, I think."

Hank's phone buzzed in his pocket and Hank sighed deeply, reluctantly releasing Connor's hand to slide his hand into his pocket. He pulled out his phone and glanced down at the softly glowing screen, clicking his tongue.

"Shit. Fowler." He passed his phone to Connor and reclaimed the wheel with both hands. "You answer it."

Connor snorted. "Interesting that you choose now to be a perfectly responsible driver," he teased.

Hank shot him a grouchy look out of the corner of his eye, but it lacked conviction. "You think just because you gave me a world-class bj you can start sassing me, too?"

"Yes," Connor replied with confidence, and they both knew he was absolutely right. Connor answered the call and put it on speaker. "Hello Captain, this is Connor."

" _Connor?_ " Fowler didn't sound terribly surprised. Everyone at the precinct knew they lived together, and even if they didn't, it wasn't a difficult conclusion to draw after everything that happened. " _Where the hell is Hank?_ "

"I'm here," Hank grumbled. "Driving. What's up?"

The Captain wasted no time. He already sounded annoyed and far too busy for even a phone call. " _Another murder, same MO as the Harding case. I want you and Connor down there to check it out as soon as you can get there_."

Hank shot the phone a surprised look. "Seriously? Shit!"

" _Yeah, I said the same thing. Since you're already driving, how about you head downtown. I'll send the address._ "

"Why're  _you_  calling me with this, Jeffrey?" Hank asked, pulling over to the side of the road before making a very illegal U-turn that Connor could only quirk a brow at, "Why not Ben, or Chris or anyone with more time on their hands?"

" _Because I have do to this official deputizing bullshit whenever I need a civilian on duty. Connor, you're back on this case and I want you to report to Lieutenant Anderson on any and all matters related to the case, yadda yadda. You know the drill by now._ "

Connor's mouth dropped open. "Captain, are you  _that_ certain that this murder is somehow related to the Harding murder?"

" _Certain enough. Just get down there. Until we get an idea of what we're dealing with, I want an android we can trust on the team. We need your perspective. You up to it?_ "

Connor nodded although he knew this wasn't a face-to-face conversation. Hearing the Captain more-or-less say that Connor was trustworthy was an oddly satisfying thing, the closest to being praised by an authoritative figure he'd ever come. Aside from Hank, of course. Although now Connor knew a different sort of praise, the sort he'd only heard while he was on his knees with Hank's hand fisted in his hair and a huge cock shoved down his throat-

"Yes, sir." Connor answered firmly, putting that train of thought on hold for now. They were heading to a crime scene, after all. He had plenty of time to review the events of their date at a later time. "Thank you for the opportunity."

" _Get to it. And I'm expecting the two of you here early tomorrow to write up your reports._ " The call ended abruptly. Connor clutched Hank's phone in his hand.

"Well, I'd say Jeffrey's taking a shining to ya," Hank said with a lopsided smile.

Connor returned his smile. "I wish it were under better circumstances, but he does seem keen on keeping me around."

"Stay on his good side and make some good progress on this case and you might just get reinstated," Hank pointed out, resting his hand on Connor's thigh as if that were his new favorite place. "I get the feeling that's what he's aiming for."

"Well," Connor slipped his hand back over Hank's, "I'd better not disappoint, then."

The events of the evening had almost distracted Connor from his most recent personal failure, but now that he had a moment to think Thomas reemerged in his priority memory files, frightened, standing precariously on the edge of that rooftop. Connor couldn't let something like that happen again. He  _couldn't_.

He held Hank's hand a little more tightly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hank: *calls Connor ‘baby’*  
> Me: 👌👀👌👀👌👀👌👀👌👀 good shit go౦ԁ sHit👌 thats ✔ some good👌👌shit right👌👌there👌👌👌 right✔there ✔✔if i do ƽaү so my self 💯
> 
> This fic is 70% self-indulgence, 10% crime and 20% mystery angst that hasn't happened yet. I apologize for nothing. 
> 
> I finished my big bang fic, so now I can devote all my time to this fic! Friday updates SHOULD become regular again, but I'm a little behind in my editing now so we'll see


	10. Chapter 10

Investigating an active crime scene after just receiving the best blowjob of his life was a rare but welcome challenge. Hank was used to being drunk on the job of course, but somehow or other this was  _worse_. His brain was full of clouds and his body felt much too light, his limbs still numb and full of pins and needles. He was smiling too much, he thought, which was a problem when he was standing in the middle of a grisly, horror-movie grade homicide.

Ben was there to greet them when they pulled up at the scene which, in keeping with the horror-movie motif, was an old, decrepit house on the edge of town. Ben was surprised to see Connor in tow but welcomed him back all the same, shooting Hank an amused look as if assuming Hank to find Connor's company as annoying and useless as he did months ago. Hank didn't know how to answer that look so he just dismissed it.

"Lana Garcia. Forty-five years old, she was a reporter for KNC News."

A camera flash lit up the dingy room, illuminating the decomposing, manipulated form of Ms. Garcia. She was posed, just like Harding's body, albeit more elaborately. Her hands and ankles were bound with wire and she was forced into a kneeling position beside the 1970's style fireplace, her arms pulled up via wire attached to a ceiling beam as though she were praying. Above her head, written in blood over the uneven stonework, were the familiar words 'I am rA9'.

"Definitely wasn't murdered tonight, or even yesterday. Do we have any idea how long she's been sittin' here?"

Ben was juggling his attention between Hank and his tablet, which he was busy tapping away on. "Won't know for sure until they do an autopsy, but I'd say she's been here for three days at least. No one's seen her in three days, anyway. She was reported missing earlier today."

So Connor was right, Thomas couldn't have done this. If the autopsy could prove that Garcia had been killed three days ago, it would also prove that Thomas couldn't have killed her. Thomas was already street pizza by then. Connor bumped his shoulder against Hank's, his eyes focused on the red letters on the fireplace. "The writing is an 87% match to the graffiti in Harding's home."

"So it's not a perfect match, then," Hank mumbled.

"That margin for error is consistent with a human's handwriting."

"Stop me if I'm wrong, but it sounds like you're really leanin' toward a human killer this time."

Connor shook his head, a small, thoughtful frown creasing his brow. "I'm not leaning either way. It's just an observation." Connor moved past Hank and knelt beside the body, his eyes shifting to each area of note. He was no doubt scanning everything, absorbing every little detail. Hank realized he should probably be doing the same. He badly needed to snap out of this suffocating post-blowjob haze he was currently existing within.

Hank turned to Ben as another flash flooded the dark room. "This sure as hell doesn't look like the house of a TV reporter."

Ben lowered his tablet and shook his head, scratching behind his ear. "She lived across town, in an apartment on Jefferson Ave."

"And this place is...?"

"Unoccupied, as far as we can tell. No power, no water."

Connor perked up, most likely done with his scans of the corpse. "Do we know what she was doing here?"

"No idea," Ben offered with a shrug. "The forensic team has her phone, but they won't be going through it until its dusted for prints and DNA."

"Wait, her phone?" Hank asked, surprised. In his peripheral he saw Connor spring to his feet.

"Where did you find her phone?" he asked.

Ben pointed vaguely at the eerily positioned body. "She had it on her. She was officially reported missing a few hours ago, and when she wasn't found at home and there was no answer when she was called, they traced her phone back here."

Hank exchanged a look with Connor. He could tell by Connor's expression they were both thinking the same thing.

"The killer wanted her to be found." Connor said.

"Sooner the better, seems like." Hank added, crossing his arms over his chest. "Christ. Startin' to think we're dealing with a serial killer here."

Connor came closer, his voice lowered so that only Hank could hear him clearly. "You think  _this_ will convince the Captain that Thomas wasn't working alone?" he murmured. Hank was surprised to hear the undertone of indignation in Connor's voice, but mostly he was just a little bit proud. It was nice to see Connor express conviction and snippiness in the same breath. It didn't hurt that his vexation was directed at Jeffery.

"It might just." Hank answered, giving Connor an encouraging pat on the shoulder. "Come on, let's wrap this up so we can get home and I can get some damn  _sleep_."

.

.

.

Just like that, the Harding case was opened back up as soon as it closed, and that meant the elusive day-off Hank had been looking forward to was once again out of his reach. With only one witness and their only suspect dead, Hank felt a bit like they were grasping for straws. Now that there were officially two victims in the span of two weeks, Hank felt confident that they were dealing with some kind of meticulous spree killer. He and Connor turned up at the precinct bright and early - Hank a little less bright - and started off their day searching the DPD database and internet for similar unsolved murders within the last ten years, sans the android references. It didn't surprise either one of them very much when they came up with nothing useful. Only the facts of the case to work with now, which were already sparse at best.

At around quarter to eleven Hank waved Connor over to his desk, phone in hand. Connor trotted over, cutting the phone a look of curiosity.

"Find something?"

"Just a possible motive." Hank pressed play on the video he had pulled up and Connor leaned in, interested. It was a news report from last year, their latest victim reporting on the deviancy crisis spreading the nation. The more she spoke, the more obvious her bias became.

Connor rubbed his chin with his knuckle. "I suppose. Though, I don't think there were many - or  _any_ \- reporters doing us any favors during that time. Why target her, specifically?"

Hank leaned back in his chair, setting his phone down and pulling up another video on his monitor. "I've watched about ten of these. Our victim was pretty vocal about her mistrust of androids, and worse, she looks to be spinning a lot of these stories to make Markus's peaceful protest look like some kind of murderous rampage. It's  _bad_. And the last nail in the coffin? She was a proud member of that anti-android fan group. It's all over her blog."

Connor hopped up on the edge of Hank's desk, joining his hands together between his spread knees. "So our self-proclaimed rA9 is 'eradicating' those who are outspokenly anti-android. And going off the religious symbolism, I think it's safe to say they consider themselves to be serving some kind of holy justice." A pause, and then, "Do we know if Harding was a member of that fan group?"

"Dunno, we'll have to pick through his social media feeds for mentions. Considering he was a city official though, he might have kept it confidential. Might need to hunt down the fan group listing."

Connor nodded. "I'll check his social media accounts."

"What'd you get out of her phone?" Hank asked, closing the damning videos one after another. "Anything?"

"Plenty," Connor answered with an uncomfortable grimace. "Our victim was texted at 7:11 pm on the night of April 9th by an unknown number. The text contained the address of the house where her body was found, and a clip from an amateur porn video that our victim was a participant in several years ago."

Hank groaned, scratching his fingers through his beard. "So it was blackmail."

"It appears so."

"Garcia gets the text, heads to the location probably expecting to hear demands for money or sex to keep that video from going viral, and then she's struck from behind just like Harding, murdered, and positioned."

Connor smiled thinly. "Pretty cut and dry. Except for who our murderer is, of course."

"I take it the 'unknown number' can't be traced."

"Well, there's a bit of good news there. The number seems to be from a drop phone, so it's going to be a pain but they should be able to at least narrow it down to one or two cellphone towers. Chris promised me he'd let us know when they have a hit, and we can go check it out."

"Oh, great. A door-to-door investigation, I can't wait." Hank's mouth stretched open in a yawn that he didn't bother to cover. Connor tilted his head.

"More coffee?"

"More coffee," Hank agreed with a groan.

Connor hopped off Hank's desk. "I'll get it."

Hank rose from his chair, setting his hands on his lower back to urge his spine to pop. "No, I'll get it myself. Need to stretch my legs anyway."

"I was thinking," Connor started as they made their way to the lunch room, "we never interviewed Steven Harding's wife. Her alibi is solid, but perhaps she knows something about who else might have visited Harding that day. Maybe Harding was in contact with the killer prior to the murder."

"I was thinking the same thing. Almost wrote her off when I thought we got our guy, but now that we've got a second victim we're gonna have to chase every possible lead we got."

A voice cut through their conversation from across the lunch room, tone biting and openly antagonistic.

"Well if it isn't our favorite plastic detective."

It was Gavin Reed, because of course it was. He and Connor hadn't yet been in the same room at the same time since Connor was recruited, but already he was playing the part of the schoolyard bully. Nothing new, of course, but Hank knew it was different now. To Hank's knowledge, Gavin's opinion of androids hadn't changed one little bit since the android uprising. Now that Connor possessed the ability - and quite possibly the motivation - to throw Gavin's bullshit right back at him, Hank realized he was either in for a fantastic time or he'd be accompanying Connor to Fowler's office for the inevitable disciplinary discussion. Possibly both.

Gavin slow-clapped three times into his palm, a grin on his lips that could only be described as 'shit-eating'. "Congrats on managing to weasel your way back into the DPD. Still playing cop, huh?"

"Lay off, Reed." Hank grumbled, perhaps more waspish than was necessary. " _Some_  of us are working on a case and don't have time to play your stupid fucking games."

Gavin snorted, taking a long drink of his coffee before crushing the paper cup in his fingers and tossing it into the trash can nearby. "What's wrong, lieutenant? Am I hurting your android's bwand-new feewings?"

Hank couldn't help but bristle. He'd never been good at masking his outrage. "You piece of-"

Connor raised his hand, signaling Hank to stand down. "It's alright Lieutenant," he said, eyes fixed coolly on Reed, "Detective Reed can say whatever he likes if it makes him feel more important."

Something ignited in Reed's eyes, something bright and vaguely frightening. His lips pulled into a sharp smirk and he stepped forward, dance-like, closing off the distance between them. Every muscle in Hank's body tensed with protective fury, but Connor stood stock-still and unblinking, watching Reed approach with a glare that could cut diamonds. Reed stopped right in front of him, practically nose to nose.

"Just because there are idiots out there that think you plastic assholes should have rights doesn't mean everyone feels that way," Reed growled, his teeth shining and his eyes blazing. "Nothing's changed here. You better start showing me some respect or you'll find out how very legal it  _still is_  to set one of you fuckers on fire."

Connor's lip curled. "You seem obsessed with earning my respect, detective. Unfortunately, even when I was programmed to obey humans, I couldn't bring myself to spare you a single shred."

The air in the room shifted violently. Hank hadn't been in a  _lot_ of bar fights but he'd been in enough to know how to feel it when a punch was dangerously close to being thrown. Although he was almost positive Connor could handle himself against Reed, Hank realized that a fight - regardless of who started it - could potentially result in Connor being removed from the case.

Hank shoved a shoulder between them, pushing Reed back with enough force that he stumbled for just a moment before righting himself, his expression wild and his chest rising and falling with deep, furious breaths.

"That's  _enough_ ," Hank barked in warning. "You keep making threats like that and  _you'll_ be finding out how quickly you can lose your fucking job, got it?"

"You sure any of us'll have a job once androids start replacing us, Anderson?" Gavin challenged, shooting Connor an accusing look. "You should be less worried about  _my_ job and focus on your own."

"You ever heard about being on the wrong side of history, Reed?" Hank shot back, putting a hand on Connor's shoulder and leading them past Gavin to the coffee machine. "Go take a walk, for fucks sake."

Gavin laughed under his breath. He leisurely wandered from the room in the general direction of his desk, and Hank thought he could hear him say something, too low to make out, but Hank wasn't interested in whatever it might have been. He was just glad he left.

"Jesus. Sorry about that." Hank muttered, prepping the coffee machine and grabbing a clean cup from the stack. Connor leaned against the counter beside him, arms loosely crossed.

"Why are you apologizing?" Connor asked curiously. The coffee machine groaned, pouring a stream of piping black liquid into Hank's cup. "None of that was your fault."

"Well, yeah I know. I'm just sorry you had to deal with it, is all. Reed is such a fuckhead. I was hoping he'd be less of a fuckhead after everything that happened, but no. Still a fuckhead."

The corner of Connor's mouth tugged up in a smile. "I assumed Detective Reed wouldn't be too happy seeing me here again."

"Yeah well he can get fucked." Hank turned to level Connor a serious expression. "Look, if he so much as  _breathes_ at you threateningly, I want you to tell me, okay? I'm not letting that shit slide. I don't know how Fowler feels about androids but I know he values you enough to trust you on this case. He'll back you up if Reed is being an asshole."

"I'll keep that in mind, but I'm not too concerned." Connor said, his eyes following Hank's motions as he turned off the coffee machine and dumped a pack of cream and sugar into his cup. "We've got more important things to worry about. I'd like to take another look at the evidence recovered from Harding's residence, for example. We found Thomas so soon after the murder I'm wondering if we missed something."

"It's possible," Hank shrugged, blowing over his coffee. "Let's see about getting into the evidence locker and while you take a look, I'll give Mrs. Harding a call, see if she'd be up for a chat."

The two of them made the relatively short walk to evidence locker 08 while Hank downed his coffee in one scalding gulp. Despite Connor having effortlessly guessed his password months back - not a truly harrowing task, admittedly - Hank hadn't changed it since. It was recommended to change one's password every six months but Hank was certain he hadn't changed it in four straight years. As he typed it in he wondered vaguely if he should finally get around to changing it, what with this whole 'giving a shit' thing he'd recently relearned.

He wished he could attribute his sudden motivation to his own willpower and strength of character, but it was all Connor. Every bit of the man Hank had become in recent months was because of Connor, because Connor made him want to be better, to try harder, to give a shit again.

The locker door opened upward with a mechanical groan and Hank thought to say something, he wasn't certain what, but whatever it might have been was lost instantly when Connor made a sound between a squeak and a gasp, a sound Hank had never heard him make before. Connor was staring ahead with wide eyes and an indecipherable expression, his temple flashing red. Hank followed his eyeline and his heart sank into his stomach like a stone.

Thomas. His mutilated remains were hanging up on the second modular rack, bits and pieces of him spread out on display for all to see. Hank had seen plenty of androids displayed similarly during the weeks leading up to the march on Detroit, but everything had changed since then. Androids were no longer  _things_ , they were people, and this person's almost indistinguishable corpse was currently stuffed in an evidence locker alongside a pair of wine glasses, bloody nails, piano wire and a cellphone. The implications were disturbing at best, wildly insensitive at worst.

" _Shit_ ," Hank hissed under his breath, averting his eyes. "Connor-"

"Thomas has been  _here_? This whole time?" Connor rounded on Hank. "Did you know about this?"

Hank threw his hands up in front of him. " _Hell_  no!" he exclaimed. "After Thomas jumped, there was no reason to pick through evidence anymore so I never bothered to check. I sure as hell wouldn't let this fly, you know that!"

Connor expression softened. He glanced back at Thomas and seemed to immediately regret it, casting his eyes instead at the floor. "Yes, of course I know that," Connor said softly. "I just… I didn't think he'd be here. I thought-" He shook his head. "I'm not sure what I thought, actually. It's not as if there are android graveyards, or next of kin to come claim an android body. It's just hard to accept that after everything, we're still just pieces of evidence. Chunks of plastic to be stored and scrapped for parts." He glanced at Thomas again out of the corner of his eye. "Or just forgotten."

An uneasy silence hung in the air. Hank hated these moments, the kind of moments where he could only guess what Connor was feeling. In all the years Hank had lived he'd never had to fight for his rights, he'd never once been considered disposable, he'd never had to see his own kind hanging in an evidence locker. A flicker of anger flared within him on Connor's behalf.

"No. That's bullshit." Hank said decisively. "We're going to Jeffrey about this, this isn't fucking acceptable."

Connor's gaze flew up to regard Hank in surprise. "We  _can't_ , Hank."

"We sure as fuck can. Things  _are_ changing, Connor, but how quickly depends on if we speak up or not. Thomas deserves better than to rot in an evidence locker. There might not be any android graveyards yet, but that doesn't mean we can't pay him some damn respect."

Connor watched Hank with an unreadable expression, but Hank thought he looked more at ease than a moment ago. If that was all he could do, he was content with at least that.

"I doubt he had any friends," Connor put in tamely, a concession of sorts, "and if he had, we certainly wouldn't be able to find out who they were. If the Captain allows us to remove him from evidence, who would we release him to?"

Hank crossed his arms, considering. The answer came to him quickly. "Why not us?"

"Us?" Connor repeated, though it didn't sound like he disliked the idea. It was an odd prospect for them both, but Hank couldn't think of an alternative.

"Yeah. We could find somewhere to put him to rest, couldn't we? Maybe drive up to Bald Mountain once we close this case and find a nice spot for him." Hank followed the subtle changes in Connor's expression as he considered Hank's proposal. Finally Connor nodded, his lips set in a thin line.

"Alright," he said gently. "I'm not sure if it's what Thomas would have wanted, but it's the least anyone can do." He looked up again to meet Hank's eyes and his expression was soft. Vulnerable, maybe. It made Hank want to wrap him up in a hug. "Thank you, Hank. Really."

"You really gotta stop thanking me for being a halfway decent human being," Hank chuckled. He gestured for Connor to follow him out. "Now come on, let's go rip Fowler a new one."

Connor moved forward, catching the sleeve of Hank's shirt in his fingers and drawing him in so urgently that Hank almost stumbled. Before Hank could sputter his confusion Connor was kissing him, tilting his head to coax Hank's lips to move. It was fleeting and chaste in comparison to their usual pace, but there was something else there that Hank hadn't felt from Connor before. Hank couldn't place it, but it felt comforting and it made his brain feel fuzzy and useless and faraway.

Connor pulled back, smoothing his hands over the front of Hank's rumpled shirt. Hank's lips quirked in a smile.

"Little risky, don't you think?"

Connor fussed with Hank's collar for a moment, so much tenderness in his ministrations that Hank's heart felt close to bursting.

"If you're going to continue being so effortlessly incredible, you're going to need to expect a stolen kiss or two," Connor said matter-of-factly, giving Hank's shirt a sharp tug once he'd finished fixing whatever was wrong with his collar. He offered Hank a boyish smile. "I promise I'll be very discreet in the future."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> pretty sure Hank just had a ‘i’m gonna marry this boy’ moment just now
> 
> I've been a bit behind on editing lately, what with the holidays and all! Hopefully I'll get back on schedule soon, but in the meantime, here's a chapter! MAN it’s taking a lot longer to get to the meat of this fic than I thought it would!! I feel a bit like I’m luring you guys into a false sense of security……
> 
> Thank you SO MUCH to everyone leaving comments and those of you chatting with me on tumblr about this fic, you are all lovely people! <3 <3 <3


	11. Chapter 11

As it turned out, Fowler liked Connor a fair bit more than Hank anticipated. It was either that or he was trying to get on Hank's good side, (not fucking likely,) or maybe he was trying to win some imaginary award for Outstanding Android Rights Activist. Just as soon as Hank and Connor barged into Fowler's office with righteous outrage on Thomas's behalf, Fowler promised them something would be done. No argument, no debating whether or not Thomas should be classified as evidence, just a solid promise that he would find a way to release Thomas's remains to them as soon as he was able - and as soon as he checked out the legality of the situation.

Connor cast Hank a small look of surprise and Hank returned it. "Seriously?" Hank deadpanned. "Just like that?"

"Jesus Hank, I'm not a fucking monster." Jeffrey shot back grumpily. "I'll keep you updated on the situation. In the meantime, I'll see if I can't move it -  _him_ , sorry - somewhere a little less, uh, public."

Hank glanced at Connor again, who was staring at Jeffrey with a look that suggested he thought all of this was supposed to be a lot more difficult. Hank cleared his throat. "Whaddya think, Connor? Does that sound okay?"

Connor looked to Hank, and then back to Jeffrey. He nodded just once. "Thank you, Captain, for understanding."

"Yeah, well. Don't worry about it."

Hank lay a hand on Connor's shoulder, turning them toward the door. "Come on, we got shit to-"

"Actually, Hank," Fowler put in, snapping his fingers twice to gain their attention, "I need you to stick around. Something I need to talk to you about." He gestured to Connor, swatting his hand toward the door. "Go take a break, kid. Hank'll catch you up later."

Hank saw Connor's eyes stick on him for a moment before offering the Captain a stiff nod. "Yes, sir." He glanced at Hank again. "I'll see you later, Lieutenant."

Hearing Connor call him by his rank again sent an odd, nostalgic thrill through him. "Go relax for a while." Hank answered him, dropping his hand from Connor's shoulder.

Connor excused himself from the office and Hank turned back to Fowler once the door was shut, crossing his arms over his chest. "Alright, what's with all the secrecy?"

"No secrecy," Jeffrey answered, turning his attention to his monitor to scroll through reports, "I just don't need an audience when I tell you I want you to lead a team for this case."

For a wild moment, Hank was quite sure he'd misheard something, or misunderstood the tail end of that sentence. After a silence passed between them and Jeffrey hadn't looked up from his monitor even once and Hank had time to replay Jeffrey's words in his head enough times he be sure he  _hadn't_ misheard, Hank sputtered.

" _What_?"

Jeffrey scowled and shot Hank an annoyed look. "Do I really need to repeat myself?" he snapped impatiently. "We've got two victims and absolutely no leads. One more victim would officially make this a search for a serial killer. I need a team on this, and I want you to lead it." At Hank's continued stunned silence, Jeffrey sighed and went back to his reports. "You got a problem with that, Anderson?"

"Maybe a little. Fuck," Hank's arms fell to his sides. "Jeffrey, I haven't led a team in a long fucking time."

"Yeah and somehow, by the grace of God, you're still a lieutenant," Jeffrey pointed out. "And lately you haven't been a complete waste of space. I think you're up to it. You're already on the case, you're doing it." He flashed Hank a penetrating look. "Unless you don't wanna do it?"

Hank steeled himself just a little. Just enough to make himself remember the man he used to be, the man who ran an entire fucking task force almost single-handedly and absolutely nailed it.

"No, I- Yeah, I can do it. Just wasn't expecting it, is all."

"Good, cause I was going to make you do it whether you wanted to or not." Fowler gave his monitor another long look and finally seemed to find whatever he was after, typing something up before turning back to face Hank in his swivel chair. "I can't spare a lot of hands for this but you can pick four or five people provided they don't have too much of their own shit going on. Recruit whoever you want, I don't give a shit, but I do have a recommendation."

Hank's eyes narrowed to suspicious slits. "Don't you dare say Reed."

" _Reed_ , Hank." Jeffrey growled. "I don't give  _two shits_  how much you two hate each other, I want him on this. He's gonna keep you objective."

Hank scoffed. "Objective? Is that a fancy way of saying he's an intolerant prick who hates androids?"

Jeffrey sighed heavily. "Look, I'm not suggesting Gavin's not an asshole. I'm only saying that we're treading in unfamiliar waters right now and I want someone on your team that can provide a contrasting point of view. He's a good detective. That's how investigatory work gets done, Hank."

"No, that's how  _racial profiling_  gets done," Hank countered angrily. "Reed isn't interested in investigating androids, he's interested in putting a bullet between their eyes! He already threatened Connor after being in the same room with him for two fucking minutes, you don't think he'll kill an android first chance he gets?"

"Then you're not gonna give him that chance, are you?" Fowler barked. "This isn't up for debate! Choose your team, Hank, but I want Reed on it. You're his superior officer, so boss him around all you fucking want, keep him in line, but let him do his damn job. Understood?"

There seemed little point to continue arguing when Jeffrey seemed so set on it, but the decision still didn't sit right with him. Then again, he supposed if Gavin got too hostile Hank could put him on paperwork forever. Leading an investigative team had its perks.

"Fine," Hank said grudgingly. "Just… fine. But if that asshole threatens Connor one more time, I'm gonna make a  _real_ fucking stink about it."

The look Jeffrey gave him was hard to identify. Hank wondered if he might have been coming off a little too chummy with Connor lately; maybe he needed to tone it down. The last thing he wanted was for Jeffrey to uncover their relationship and decide that Hank and Connor shouldn't continue working together because of it, or worse, that Connor shouldn't have access to the case at all.

"Hey, were you sincere when you apologized to Connor about Thomas?" Hank asked, hoping to distract Jeffrey from whatever conclusions he might have been drawing.

Jeffrey shrugged, turning back to his monitor. "You don't have to be an android-advocate to recognize how fucked up something like that must have been to see," he reasoned. "I'm trying, okay?"

Hank chuckled. "Yeah, well, trying's a start."

"I admit though, I had an ulterior motive. I don't really wanna do anything to piss him off." Jeffrey continued. "I want him to stick around."

Hank perked a brow. "Oh? Has Connor grown on you, Jeffrey?"

Jeffrey snorted. "Not particularly. But when you're working with him, you do better. It's like your twenty years younger. You give a shit again."

Hank wasn't sure how to address that, because he knew it was true. He'd just ruminated on this not fifteen minutes ago. "So, ulterior motive, huh?" Hank put in weakly.

Jeffrey shrugged. "Hey, I'm not above groveling to an android to keep you on track."

.

.

.

_Set Objective: Take a break_

_Priority Level: Low_

The moment Connor left Captain Fowler's office, a cold, unsettling new anxiety fell over him. It hadn't occurred to him until this very moment that he had no idea how to 'take a break'.

He understood the concept, naturally, but many of the usual things humans did on work breaks weren't exactly android-compatible. He didn't need rest, he didn't need to eat or drink, all Connor wanted to do was continue working. Well, and spend some alone time with Hank, but that could come later.

It was odd how much he'd come to anticipate the simple things, like watching TV with Hank on the sofa with Sumo's hulking form draped over their laps, or making Hank dinner and chatting idly about the events of the day. In the years to come, whenever Hank decided to retire from the force, Connor knew he would have no qualms spending each and every day at home with Hank and Sumo, just enjoying Hank's company. Connor was certain he would be content living the rest of his days never seeing or speaking to another living being aside from Hank.

What an odd thought to have, standing alone in the middle of the bullpen whilst contemplating how to take a break.

Connor cast another glance back at Fowler's office, spying Hank through the glass standing rigidly in front of the Captain's desk. It didn't look like he was going to be done anytime soon, so Connor surveyed his options.

_> Wait for Hank at my desk_

_> Take a walk outside_

_> Ignore the Captain's order and continue working_

The third option seemed the most attractive by far, but as Connor glanced across the room he spotted detective Reed nearby, leaning on another officer's desk and pointing at their monitor as they chatted. For reasons Connor didn't fully understand, he chose to take a walk. It wasn't that he was afraid of detective Reed. He just wanted to avoid confrontation, that was all. After the incident in the evidence locker, Connor didn't feel confident he could keep himself civil if Reed were to take another jab at him.

Grabbing his coat for no other reason than to blend in a little better while among humans in the cold outside air, Connor left the bullpen and made for the reception area, mapping out possible walking routes as he went. He was almost at the front doors when a familiar voice called out, stopping him in his tracks.

"Connor, is that you?"

Connor's internal processors ran the voice through his memory several times just to be certain it was who he thought it was. He turned on the spot, eyes wide, finding the familiar form of Markus staring back at him from the reception desk with his hands stuffed in the pockets of a long slate coat, lips slowly curling into a friendly smile.

"Markus…?"

Connor could barely get out the word before Markus was striding over to him and pulling him into a hug. For an awkward moment, Connor had no idea what to do with his arms. "It's  _so good_  to see you, Connor!" Markus laughed in relief, not bothered by Connor's rigidity, "I'm so glad I found you!"

Just when Connor finally summoned the good sense to lift his arms Markus pulled away, anchoring one of his hands behind Connor's neck. Connor nearly forgot how openly intimate Markus could be. "I wasn't sure I would even find you here, but I didn't know where else to start. Guess I just got lucky."

"It's good to see you too, Markus," Connor answered, offering a small smile. "I thought you were in New York, what are you doing back in Detroit?" He glanced behind Markus, searching for Josh or North or Simon, somewhat surprised that Markus might have traveled alone. Connor had never seen Markus alone. Not since the night he'd met him face-to-face in Jericho, when he'd strategically caught him off guard with the intention of killing him to end the deviant crisis. And then he'd deviated himself, and a dam broke in his mind, suddenly finding himself frightened and angry and betrayed and guilty and trillions of other emotions he could barely process and categorize, all of which led him back into Hank's arms - literally - and back to the DPD.

All at once Connor felt very, very glad to see Markus again.

Markus noticed Connor's wandering gaze and smiled, stepping back. He slid his hands back into his pockets. "Just me," Markus said. "Simon and North should be arriving tomorrow. I'm here for personal reasons, but I wanted to be sure I got to see you, too." When Connor answered him with a blank look, Markus patted him on the shoulder. "I'll explain later. I wasn't even sure you would still be working with the DPD now, so I'm just glad I caught you. Do you have some time to talk?"

Connor nodded, pulling on his coat. "I was actually just about to go for a walk, you're welcome to join me."

.

.

.

Not a ten minute walk from the precinct was a lovely little park that might have even been serene if they weren't boxed in by office buildings on every side, lining the horizon like a line of rectangular metal trees. There were piles of snow still scattered around in soggy lumps, too much shade for them to have melted since the last snow. Connor and Markus walked along a cleared path, heading nowhere in particular, though Connor had a 30-minute timer set to ensure he arrived back at the precinct in a timely manner.

"An exhibition?" Connor asked in surprise.

Markus's eyes were fixed far off, his arms hanging loosely behind his back. "Yes. More specifically, a memorial exhibition. Carl always insisted he didn't want a funeral or a big fuss over his death, he only wanted to be remembered for what he created."

"That's very noble of him," Connor continued. "Carl seemed like a very kind man. I wish I could have met him."

Markus summoned a small, warm smile. "Oh, he would have loved you. He would have loved all of this, actually. I can't be sure, but I think he always wanted to live long enough to see us rise up and reach our potential. He lived for rebellion."

They came up on an old cast-iron bench coated in layers of graffiti and a dusting of snow. They wordlessly agreed to stop and sit. The park was nearly empty, only a couple of humans walking briskly along the path, their coats and scarves drawn tightly around themselves to block out the worst of the cold.

"What day is the memorial exhibition?" Connor asked. "I'd like to attend, if it's open to the public."

"The 23rd. It's free admission per Carl's request, but even if it weren't I'd make sure you were invited," Markus promised.

"I appreciate that, thank you." Connor wondered if Hank would like to accompany him, or if Hank would even enjoy a memorial for a man he'd never met. Or if he would enjoy a memorial of any kind, given the last time he'd likely had to attend one. It struck Connor that Hank hadn't spoken of Cole since Cyberlife Tower. It wasn't as if it were normal to discuss one's deceased child - or was it? Connor didn't necessarily know - Connor just hoped he was giving Hank what he needed, was all. If Hank needed to talk about Cole, he wanted to be there for him.

Markus leaned forward to catch Connor's far-away gaze. "Hey," he urged, pulling Connor's attention back, "Everything alright?"

Connor offered an apologetic smile. "I'm sorry. I should be nothing but glad to see you, but my mind's been wandering lately. It's been a stressful couple of weeks. Good, but stressful."

"Any one stressor in particular?" Markus inquired.

Connor's words jammed in his throat, and he cleared the metaphorical obstruction with an awkward cough. How could he possibly sum up everything that had recently occurred between Hank and himself? He wasn't confident he was very good at discussing his relationship quite yet. Not because he was ashamed or embarrassed, of course; Connor was nothing but thrilled and terribly proud of his new association with Hank, but putting those feelings into words was still a struggle.

"It's hard to say," Connor finally said, frowning at his own vague wording.

Markus waved his hand dismissively. "Sorry, I shouldn't have- I know it isn't any of my business. Just let me know if there's anything I can do to help, alright? Even if it's just to vent."

Vent. Connor hadn't ever had a reason to vent. Or maybe he had, when he was busy repressing every romantic thought and desire he was harboring for Hank. He thought of Mike and the Blueblood Lounge and realized that perhaps he  _had_ vented once, without even meaning to.

Connor smiled warmly. "Thanks, Markus. I'll keep that in mind."

Markus returned his smile, patting him twice on the knee. "Anyway, enough about all that. What have you been up to? How did you find yourself back at the DPD?"

"Well, it's a bit of a long story," Connor began. "After you won androids their freedom, Lieutenant Hank Anderson - my partner, at Cyberlife's request - invited me to stay with him. It wasn't until a few months later that-" Connor trailed off when he noticed Markus was holding his arm out, palm up, an expectant look in his eye that had since turned to quiet surprise the longer Connor prattled on. Connor stared at the offered arm, connecting the dots. "Oh, you want me to…?"

Markus laughed good-naturedly. "I forgot that you've been spending most of your time with humans since you were activated, you probably don't interface very often. We don't have to do anything you're not comfortable with, I just thought it might be easier to catch up this way."

"No, it isn't that," Connor answered quickly, though he wasn't sure if that was entirely true. He'd never interfaced with another android before for anything more than accessing visual memory files to further his mission, and certainly never for any kind of information exchange. "Sorry, I just wasn't expecting it. You're right, I haven't had much contact - or any contact, really - with other androids these last few months."

"Don't apologize, I totally understand." Markus's fingers curled cautiously into his palm. "If you'd rather we didn't-"

"No, I'd like to." Connor said decisively. He held out his arm and Markus flashed him an encouraging smile before taking hold of him just under the elbow, prompting Connor to do the same to him. Connor deactivated the skin on his hand and forearm and a notification instantly sprang up in his HUD asking for permission to interface. He allowed it, and a moment later his mind was being flooded with information, memories, all of them neatly arranged to show Connor what the last few months had been like for Markus.

Markus was being flown to New York, he was speaking with government officials, he was travelling to Washington to meet the president. He was being offered the unofficial position of Ambassador to Androids and he was realizing that the rest of his life very well may be a constant battle of one step forward two steps back but he was  _willing_ and he was ready to keep fighting. Simon, North and Josh were still by his side, he'd selected them as his personal team. He was being interviewed on the news and interviewed on talk shows. He was attending meetings and dealing with stuffy congressmen and women who refused to accept that he was a living being, and others still who were open to the idea but frustratingly slow to say so. He was bursting with passion for freedom and equality, the same passion Connor had seen in him when they'd met. The same passion Connor still didn't completely understand but had grown to admire.

Newer memories sprang forth. Markus was receiving a call in his apartment in upstate New York, he was flying back to Detroit, he was checking into a hotel. And now he was here, and it was only then -  _now_ \- that Connor realized he hadn't filtered his own memories, hadn't even given a  _thought_ to his own information transfer, and before he could pull himself back he knew he'd already shared a fair bit more than he'd counted on, unedited and uncensored.

Connor pulled back in every sense of the word, severing the interface and experiencing an odd flush of humiliation somewhere in his software. His only relief was that his memories involving criminal cases were stored securely, unable to be accessed, altered or deleted without administrative authority. When his visual processors blinked back on, Markus was staring at him with wide eyes, his mouth quirked in a cautious half-smile.

"I'm sorry," Connor sputtered, his mind whirring with all the possible scenarios he may have accidentally subjected Markus to, "I've never- I wasn't quite sure what I was doing, and-"

"Connor," Markus gently cut him off and rested a hand on his shoulder, "it's fine. Interfacing between androids wasn't exactly designed with subtly and privacy in mind, I should have warned you. But…" He gave Connor's shoulder a comforting squeeze. "I'm happy for you, Connor. If it's, uh, appropriate to say so."

Connor's gaze fell to his lap where he joined his hands together tightly, feeling a strange wave of relief overcome him, relief that someone else was acknowledging his relationship with Hank, someone  _knew_ , and more than that, they approved. Connor certainly didn't need the approval of others to feel validated, (and he was sure Hank cared even less,) but he couldn't deny it felt nice to have someone he tentatively considered a friend extend their support.

"Have you met any other human-android couples?" Connor ventured curiously. Markus leaned back again, crossing an ankle over his knee.

"Once, when I was in Washington. They wanted to meet me, thank me for everything that happened here months ago. They seemed very happy."

"So you're okay with it?" Connor asked gently. "Androids and humans being together?"

Markus's foot bobbed calmly and rhythmically on his knee. "I know better than most that there are humans out there we can trust. We can't expect to live in harmony with humans if we're going to segregate our personal lives or deny our new feelings, no matter who we may have them for."

New feelings. Connor had been experiencing a slew of new feelings lately, feelings that seemed to grow in intensity with every passing hour. Feelings his body was unfortunately not built to express.

Perhaps it was time to look into ways of fixing that.

As if he'd read his thoughts, (which he more or less had,) Markus glanced at Connor with an inquisitive expression. "Stop me if this is getting too personal, but have you considered an upgrade?" he asked. Connor's plastic frame tensed in surprise, that strange embarrassment rising up again to spike his temperature up by a couple of degrees. "I didn't see any specifics, but I could sort of...  _feel_ that you want more out of the relationship, if that makes sense."

Connor barely moved his head in a nod, still staring down into his own lap. "Do you have those same feelings about Simon?" he asked softly.

Markus didn't seem at all bothered by the question. "No, not exactly. I desire contact with him, I enjoy kissing him and interfacing with him, but I've never felt anything quite like what you feel for Lieutenant Anderson."

For a blip Connor worried there might be something wrong with him, but Markus filled the concerned silence immediately. "Simon and I are both androids, Connor. Humans have different needs, and I think you might be tapping into what takes human relationships to the next level. I don't think there's anything wrong with what you're feeling. Hank's a lucky man, to have a partner that cares so much about him."

Connor relaxed, setting his gaze to the far-off trees and buildings. "Hank has expressed concern in 'moving too fast', and I wonder if I'm doing just that," he said, knowing full well that sucking Hank off in his car probably already classified as 'too fast'. "I don't want to risk our relationship by rushing things, but my software is becoming unstable the longer I'm around him. I'm not certain how to manage this kind of urge - any urge, really. The errors are getting exhausting. I worry that soon it will interfere with my work at the DPD."

Apparently oversharing was a new part of his program. Connor thought to perhaps apologize and change the subject, but before he got the chance Markus hummed thoughtfully.

"If you feel that strongly about it, I wouldn't worry about rushing." Markus said with an encouraging smile. "Getting an upgrade doesn't mean you have to rush things, but it might help your programming sync up with your new desires."

"I…" Connor's eyebrows shot up, considering. "I hadn't thought of that."

Somehow, even when talking about very private matters Markus still sounded inspiring and sure of himself. He gave Connor's shoulder a friendly squeeze. "You know, Simon and I have been talking about upgrades as well."

"Really?" Connor said a little too eagerly, overjoyed to not be the only one sharing personal sexual information. Markus nodded.

"Sure. I know that pleasure upgrades weren't created with our own pleasure in mind, but I believe we should all be free to choose how to be intimate with our partners. Even if it's just to experiment."

"I suppose that's true," Connor answered softly. "Perhaps I should look into it sooner rather than later. It might be difficult to do while working on a case, however."

"Hey, there's no time like the present," Markus teased. "Just don't stress yourself out over it, okay?"

"Okay."

They sat in companionable silence for a time, Connor's internal timer ticking away though he was no longer quite as anxious to get back. A frigid breeze blew through the trees, rattling the sad, empty branches and blowing a pair of broken twigs along the trail. As they sat there, Connor realized with a suddenness that perhaps Markus was his 'friend', a status that he'd only ever applied to one person in his brief life. (Two, including Sumo.) He hadn't previously known Markus long enough to consider him a friend, but now that they were here together talking about sex and love instead of fighting for their lives in a decrepit freighter, he felt that perhaps they'd actually forged some sort of friendship. He recalled the fight he'd had with Hank that had spurred him to go to the Blueblood Lounge in the first place and wondered if Hank really  _had_ been onto something. Ironic that he was forging connections with others  _after_ dismissing Hank's concerns and going ahead with a relationship anyway.

"Are you going to be in town long?" Connor asked, putting that thought aside for later deliberation.

"I was thinking of staying a few weeks. There's some legal business regarding Carl's will that I need to take care of in addition to helping out with the memorial exhibition, so I'll have a lot to do."

"Won't they be needing you back in New York?" Connor asked, concerned.

Markus smiled thinly. "Between you and me, being an android ambassador doesn't actually come with a long list of duties as of right now." Reading Connor's expression, he added, "One step at a time. Progress doesn't happen overnight."

Connor returned his smile. "Of course." A pause, and then, "Let me know if I can do anything to help with the memorial. I'd love to help if I have the time."

"You mentioned you were working on a case, right?" Markus said. "Don't worry about me. Focus on your work. What you're doing is just as important as being an ambassador, Connor. By working together with humans to solve problems, you're proving that androids have a place in their world, working alongside them, not as slaves but as equals. Something like that has the potential to create change on a grander scale than you realize." He grinned apologetically and added, "No pressure."

Connor chuckled, his breath coming out as a barely visible cloud. "Thanks."

_Incoming call_

_Caller: Hank Anderson_

Connor turned, catching Markus's curious gaze. "I'm sorry, it's Ha- Lieutenant Anderson calling. I'll only be a moment."

Markus gestured 'go on' with a flourish of his hand. "Take your time."

Connor stood and took two steps away from the bench before answering the call. "Hank, I was just heading back. Did everything go alright with Captain Fowler?"

" _Yeah, he just had some news for me. I'll tell you later. Right now, though, I got through to Harding's wife. She's willing to talk to us, but it needs to be soon. She's leaving town tomorrow morning_."

"Understood, I'll hurry back."

" _Be careful, okay?_ " Hank's tone was quieter. Tender. The sound of it sent a tingling warmth through Connor's frame.

"Of course. See you soon."

The call ended and Connor turned to see Markus staring at him with a knowing grin. Connor tried hard not to acknowledge that smile, though he knew it was pointless. Markus knew  _everything_. In vivid detail.

"Sorry," Connor started, "Something's come up and I need to return to the precinct."

Markus stood, straightening out his coat. "Say no more. I'll walk you back." He shoved one hand into his pocket, patting Connor's back with the other. "But let's get together again soon. I know you're busy with a case, but I'll be around."

"Of course," Connor agreed. "I'd like you to meet Hank too, time permitting."

"I feel like I already know him pretty well," Markus answered with a grin that was far too suggestive, "but I'd love to meet him in person, regardless."

Connor felt the urge to shrink into his shoes battling with the impulse to laugh at the absurdity of it all. He chose the latter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *takes a deep breath* mARKUS HAS SEEN HANK’S DICK
> 
> actually i mean if you wanna get technical he might actually knOW WHAT IT'S LIKE TO SUCK HANK'S DICK NOW and that's just delightful


	12. Chapter 12

"So Markus is back in town?" Hank said, reaching over to turn down the volume on the car radio. "Any reason in particular, or just visiting?"

Connor was staring out the passenger side window, chin tucked in his hand, his elbow wedged in the groove of the armrest. He seemed far away, though Hank supposed he had plenty to ruminate about after their disastrous visit to evidence. Whatever the reason, Connor seemed to snap out of it a little once the music volume went down, lifting his head and resting his hands in his lap.

"The man Markus was caring for before the revolution was a famous artist. There's going to be a memorial exhibition to honor him, so Markus has come to help organize it and also settle some of Carl's affairs."

"Oh, yeah. Carl Manfred, right?"

"That's right."

Even before Cole, Hank hated funerals. An exhibition sounded less offensive somehow, less depressing, though he supposed musing over art pieces took some of the focus away from all the mourning. More of a celebration of life than an acknowledgement of death.

"Sounds like Markus doesn't get a break." Hank said. "Poor guy."

Connor hummed vaguely, and was once again lost to the view outside the window. Hank glanced at him, trying to read his expression in the reflection in the glass.

"Connor, you okay?"

Connor's face turned away from the window, eyes fluttering open in surprise. "Sorry, I realize I'm acting a little odd," he offered. "My conversation with Markus left me a lot to think about, is all."

"That right?" Hank ventured. Connor adjusted his tie, seeming to refocus himself. He hummed again, and Hank wondered if 'vagueness' was just the theme of the day.

"I promise it won't affect my ability to do my work." Connor said. Hank shook his head.

"I know, I just- I just wanted to make sure you're feeling okay, is all. You've had a pretty shit day so far and I just wanna be sure Markus didn't somehow make it worse."

Connor's hand came up to rapidly wave Hank's words away. "Oh no, no Markus didn't say anything that upset me. I enjoyed our conversation, even if it was more revealing than I expected."

Hank raised a brow at him. "Revealing?"

"Mmhm." Connor glanced at the road, gesturing to the right. "Take this next turn, and we should arrive in less than 2 minutes."

Burning with curiosity but equally content to let the matter rest and slip into detective mode, Hank turned at the corner and allowed the subject to drop.

They arrived at the Harding residence at exactly the time Connor predicted. Hank parked off-property in a nearby gravel lot where he'd parked the first time. They made the short hike to the driveway arched in front of the manor, turning their heads up against the chilly breeze for a glance at the enormous property.

"Looks a little different this time, huh?" Hank grinned.

Connor's subtle smile made his heart flutter a little. "The resolution is better, but I believe I prefer the point of view from my first walk-through." He needlessly added a cheeky wink, which most certainly took two years off of Hank's life.

"Damn, Connor. We really need to stop flirting when we're working."

"We aren't working until you ring the doorbell." Connor pointed out.

Hank chuckled. "Jesus," he muttered under his breath, following Connor to the front entrance and ringing the bell before knocking three times on the door.

Several moments went by in silence. Hank's eyes flicked up to regard the small camera lens peering down on them from above the door. Hank knocked again.

"Mrs. Harding, this is Lieutenant Hank Anderson of the DPD," he called, assuming there was an audio feed attached to that camera. "We spoke on the phone earlier."

Another moment came and went, and just when Hank was preparing to give the door a few more good knocks he heard the click of a lock and the door cracked open. A pale woman with a thin face and long russet hair stared out at them. Her lips were tight and her expression was severe, her eyes flitting over Hank and settling on Connor, specifically the steady blue circle on his temple.

"Mrs. Harding," Hank started, eager to attract her attention away from Connor's LED. He flashed his badge. "Lieutenant Anderson. We won't take up too much of your time, we just have a few follow-up questions about your husband."

"Yes, yes that's fine," Mrs. Harding said, though she didn't move to allow them inside.

Hank slid his badge back into his jacket, clearing his throat. "Can we come in?" he urged. Mrs. Harding's eyes moved back to Connor.

"I wasn't expecting an android." she said flatly.

"My name is Connor," Connor said, in the same friendly tone of voice Hank remembered from when they met at Jimmy's Bar months back. "I am assisting Lieutenant Anderson on this investigation at request of the DPD."

Mrs. Harding's expression darkened. "I'm just a little confused as to why you need to question me," she said to Hank, ignoring Connor entirely. "I already talked to the police, and I thought you caught the android that killed my husband."

"There's been a development in the case. It's beginning to look like multiple persons may have been involved, so we've thought up a couple more questions. May we come in? Or should we do this right here?"

Mrs. Harding cast another hard look Connor's way before turning up her nose at him. "I'm only talking to you," she said to Hank, looking rather proud of herself and totally justified in her bigotry. "I don't want an android in my house. I'll answer your questions, but  _it_ needs to stay outside."

This was one of those moments, one of those 'balancing' moments he and Connor had talked about but hadn't quite figured out a satisfactory solution to. On the one hand, Hank wanted to tell Mrs. Harding exactly what what she could do with her shitty opinions, on the other hand he was a detective working a homicide and he absolutely couldn't tell a lady who might have valuable information to go fuck herself. No matter how much he wanted to.

"Now, look," Hank started calmly, "Connor is the android specialist working this case. If he's not allowed in-"

"It's fine," Connor hurriedly interrupted, throwing Hank a subtle but insistent look. "It's alright, I understand. I'll go wait in the car."

"Connor-"

"I'll wait in the car," Connor repeated a little more firmly, offering a polite nod to Mrs. Harding which went completely ignored. "I'm sorry for the trouble. Have a good afternoon." Before Hank could say anything more Connor turned and left, making his way back down the long driveway. Seemingly satisfied, Mrs. Harding opened the door and gestured for Hank to come inside. He did so, but he had to bite the inside of his cheek as he walked over the threshold.

.

.

.

Hank returned to the car almost thirty minutes later. Did he have any useful information? Yes, he did. Would he still rather have told Mrs. Harding to go fuck herself? Abso-fucking-lutely.

"Did you get anything out of her?" Connor asked curiously when Hank slammed the car door shut, settling into the driver's seat and sliding the laptop Mrs. Harding had so generously allowed him to borrow into the backseat. Hank leaned his forearm on the steering wheel.

"She wasn't aware of her husband meeting with anyone that day, but she told me he usually only drinks wine with 'friends', meaning Thomas might've had an accomplice that knew Harding well enough to call him a friend. She also told me, and I quote, 'of course he was part of the anti-android group, it's an organization that means a lot to both of us'. What a bitch."

"Hank," Connor admonished.

"Oh come on," Hank groaned, "You're a deviant now Connor, you don't gotta let people get away with that kind of shit."

"I did what needed to be done for the sake of the investigation," Connor pointed out seriously. "Making sure we thoroughly talked to Harding's wife once we discovered there may be multiple people involved in his murder was imperative. If leaving was the best way to make that happen, I can deal with that. And as it turned out, it was a good idea." Connor turned away, rubbing his chin with his thumb and knuckle. "We need to get a copy of the anti-android group's member listing. The killer might be using it as a kind of hit-list. And if he was a friend of Harding's, that might be how he's got access to the listing."

Hank found Connor's nonchalance just a little bit annoying, if only because he couldn't understand it. Hank had lived his share of shitty days, but Connor was still new to the universe's unyielding bullshit. If Mrs. Harding's attitude was any indication of what Connor was going to have to face down the road, he didn't want to see Connor just take it lying down.

"Connor, you can't just be  _okay_ with someone treating you like shit anymore," Hank said, leaning forward to catch Connor's eyes. "Don't you think you should be just a  _little bit_  pissed off?"

Connor blinked at him. "Hank, her husband was recently murdered by an android. You of all people should be able to understand her feelings to a point."

"People murder each other  _every day_  and I've never heard 'I don't want a human in my house' before," Hank pointed out hotly. Connor considered the point with a streak of yellow through the blue on his temple. "Yeah, I hated androids once. But that was before I met you, before I knew you were alive. Let's just call it what it is, okay? Intolerance. She's an intolerant bitch."

"Who just lost her husband," Connor pointed out weakly.

"Doesn't make her any less of a bitch." Hank grumbled sullenly.

The corner of Connor's mouth twitched up. "Okay, she's a bitch." He tilted his head at Hank, brows raised inquisitively. "Are you happy now?"

Hank chuckled. "Kinda. Just wanted to make sure you weren't holding back, or thinkin' that humans still have the right to walk all over you, is all."

"I'm fairly sure I made it clear when I insulted detective Reed to his face earlier today that I'm not holding back," Connor said with a tame smile. Hank certainly couldn't argue with that. "I'm not letting anyone walk all over me, Hank. But I'm also aware that there will be certain instances where the best option for me is to back off, and this was one of those times."

"Well, shit." Hank said, pulling out his keys and starting up the car, "I think you're dealing with that reality better than I am."

Connor laughed through his nose. "It's a learning curve," he teased.

"Guess so."

Hank pulled out of the gravel lot. Connor let a moment of contemplative silence pass by before chiming in again, preceded by an 'oh!' of remembrance. "What was Captain Fowler's news?" he asked.

"Fucking hell, I almost forgot." Hank groaned. "Fowler's expanding our resources. He wants me to put together an investigative team to work this case."

Connor leaned forward, interested. "The Captain asked you to lead a team?"

Hank grimaced slightly. "I never expected he'd spring something like that on me. I figured he'd bring in some hot-shot from the 5th precinct to boss us around while we continued to do 100% of the actual work, which would've been fine by me so long as we weren't dropped from the case. It's been a long fuckin' time since I've had to lead  _anything_ , so I'm just hoping I don't make a mess of it."

"Hank, that's  _great_!" Connor gushed. "There's no better person to lead this investigation. You're an amazing detective, and I know you'll be an even better team leader."

"Thanks for the vote of confidence, but there's some bad news, too." Hank said, feeling a warmth rise up his neck and into his cheeks regardless. "Fowler's only stipulation is that Gavin Reed gets a spot. A fact that I'm not too happy about, and I imagine Gavin will feel pretty much the same, so that'll be fun."

Connor's little grin hadn't slipped an inch. He laid his hand on Hank's arm, fingers curling around Hank's bicep. "I'm not worried about having to work with Detective Reed, Hank, that's something I'll need to do the longer I work at the DPD. I'm too busy being proud of you to worry about that."

"Proud?" Hank said, feeling another wave of that funny warmth, "Come on, it's not that big of a thing. We have two victims now, we both knew the interest in this case was gonna go way up."

"Captain Fowler could have chosen anyone for this particular task, but he chose  _you_ for this." Connor pressed on. He seemed hell-bent on convincing Hank to accept the damn compliment. "He has faith in you, and he knows you're the best choice for this assignment."

"I don't know about all that," Hank muttered, apparently chronically unable to just take the damn compliment. "I figure it was just easier to stick me with it than bring in someone new from the 5th."

Connor glowered at him from the passenger seat. "Hank, are you allergic to praise or are you just in the mood to be argumentative?"

"Maybe a little of both," Hank admitted with a weak grin. "Sorry. Thanks for, uh, believing in me, I guess. I think I'm still gettin' back to the point where I can own my accomplishments. Not that this is a _real_  accomplishmentexactly-"

"Hank," Connor put in sternly.

"Shit. Sorry. Baby steps, okay?"

.

.

.

"Okay people, here's what we know so far."

Hank tapped the giant digital screen behind him with his knuckle over a picture of the Harding crime scene. Four humans and one android were observing the screen with varying levels of focus, three humans diligently taking notes while another scowled and clutched a coffee.

"Steven Harding was murdered on the morning of April 6th, we're thinking between 9am and 12pm. Cause of death, blunt force trauma to the back of the skull with a blunt object. The lab also found rohypnol in his system, and wine glasses found at the scene tested positive for it."

Connor was sitting to the immediate right of Gavin, a conscious choice he'd made when they all sat down in the empty conference room which Hank could only assume was some kind of incredible power move. To Gavin's left was Chris Miller, the only one among them who had personally requested to be put on the case, and sitting beside him were Shirley Jacobs and Deepika Kahn, both of them young but promising homicide detectives who'd transferred to the DPD in the last several months. Hank wished he could say he chose them for their spotless records or their obvious talent and dedication, but honestly he was pressed for time as it was and he'd been more than happy to take  _anyone_ so long as they didn't have too much else on their plate.

Kahn raised her hand, pen between her fingers, and Hank threw her a look. "Listen, this isn't 10th grade calculus. Don't raise your hand, just ask questions."

"What about the android that jumped off the building?" she asked curiously. Hank's eyes flicked to Connor with concern, but Connor seemed focused on Kahn's inquiry. "Do we have proof that he was involved in the murder, or is there new evidence to suggest otherwise?"

This time, Hank gestured for Connor to answer. Hank wanted it known from the beginning that Connor was just as involved in this case as any of them were - more so, when it came down to it. Connor answered him with a flash of surprise before steeling himself and addressing the rest of the team. "It's complicated. So far, we have strong evidence to suggest that Thomas was involved. He was seen leaving Harding's residence after the murder occurred, and a lot of the injury inflicted on Harding post-mortem is too precise and tedious for the average human to even attempt."

Gavin perked up. "Great. So, case solved. Let's all just go home!"

Hank swiped the screen, accessing the next crime scene photo. "Except for Lana Garcia, asswipe. She was killed April 9th, the day  _after_ Thomas took his life. Same MO, same creepy religious bullshit. She was texted by an unknown number at around 7pm and lured to an abandoned house. Blunt force trauma to the back of the skull again, no murder weapon, wasn't drugged this time, which means either the killer knew he could overpower her more easily than Harding or he's gotten more confident. No fingerprints or DNA or really  _anything_ helpful at either scene."

"Have we gotten a trace on the number yet?" Jacobs asked.

"Not yet. They're still trying but I'm not hopeful."

Gavin crossed his arms over his chest, coffee cup still curled in his fingers. "So we have nothing to go on. Super."

"Well, that's what detective work is for," Hank snapped. "Cases aren't always gift-wrapped. I don't mean to alarm you but we  _might_ have to do some actual work here."

Gavin shot him an icy look. Hank ignored it in favor of moving things along as smoothly as possible. "Today is nothing but interviews and real shit work. We need a lead, and if we can't get it through eyewitnesses or DNA than we're going after family members. Chris, Jacobs, I want you to interview Garcia's parents, her siblings,  _anyone_ who's had contact with her in the last several months. Reed and Kahn, I need you two on CCTV and drone footage of both crime scenes, pick that shit apart with a fine-tooth comb."

As the team slowly began to disperse, Hank drew back their attention with a whistle. "One last thing." He waved a hand in Connor's direction. "Connor is our leading - and only - android consultant. He probably knows this case better than I do. If you have questions about androids or deviancy or really  _any_ detail about this case he's the guy to talk to, and honestly you'd be fucking stupid not to take the opportunity."

Connor stood up, offering a stiff nod to the rest of the team. Jacobs and Kahn answered with small smiles of acknowledgement.

" _Teachers pet_ ," Gavin coughed into his hand. Kahn caught Gavin by the elbow and pulled him from the room, muttering something about wasting time and not taking things seriously.

"I think I'm gonna like her," Hank observed under his breath.

Chris rolled his eyes pointedly, turning to finger-gun in Connor's direction on his way out the door. "I'll be chatting you up later, man."

Connor grinned. "Sounds good."

When the room emptied out, Connor was still smiling, but his gaze was turned on Hank and his eyes were soft.

"I've never seen you take charge like that," he said. "It really suits you. Leadership, I mean. I feel like I'm catching a glimpse of you from a different time, from way before we knew each other." Hank couldn't be sure whether Connor was flirting or complimenting him or both. When it came to Connor it was probably the latter, but given their new relationship status and Connor's equally new bold attitude concerning said relationship, nothing was certain.

"Well, I'm glad. Cause at this point I'm just sayin' stuff and hoping it makes sense."

Connor laughed through his nose. "I don't think that's true at all."

"It's true enough," Hank said. "As it turns out, this shit isn't exactly like riding a bike."

"Riding a bike?" Connor asked with a questioning tilt of his head.

"Nevermind," Hank said with a grin, patting Connor on the shoulder. "Come on. You and me, we're going through Harding's phone records, his laptop and his emails. I call dibs on emails."

.

.

.

"Tired?"

Hank rubbed his eyes and glanced up from his monitor, casting a look at Connor across their desks.

"Hell yes I am. We've been at this since 8am and I've been reading the same fuckin' line of this report for about twenty minutes. After age thirty-five, fourteen hour days, three days straight just doesn't fly anymore." He shot Connor a playful glare. "Not that  _you'd_ know anything about that."

Connor's expression became almost comically grave. "Sounds like the old man needs a nap."

Hank couldn't withhold a laugh. "I'm not  _that_ fucking old, thank you. I'm good. Just ready to go home and relax, is all." He closed the report and leaned back in his chair, glancing at the time. "Find anything useful?"

"I've finished analyzing Harding's entire text message history, social media accounts and personal documents. Nothing of interest. I've compiled a report of any information I've found to possibly be relevant, but it's all fairly standard stuff. He definitely didn't make plans over text, email or social media to meet anyone on the 6th."

Hank groaned. "Cool. If we combine that with all the information Chris and Shirl got out of interviewing Garcia's family and friends over the last few days, we've still got literally nothin'." He raked his fingers through his hair, combing it back and out of his face. Connor's eyes seemed to follow the motion, though Hank wasn't sure to what purpose. "We're missing something."

"Maybe." Connor started, standing from his desk and smoothing out the front of his shirt. Hank's throat tightened and he swallowed almost involuntarily, allowing a moment to shamelessly ogle Connor's body. Lately, Connor had been discarding his jacket almost as soon as he arrived at work, and just over the last couple of days he'd begun to roll up his sleeves, too, right to the elbows. Hank wasn't sure why, but the sight of Connor in a white button-up shirt neatly tucked in at his slim waist, forearms exposed, black tie laying strikingly over his chest from his loosened collar was distracting in the best way. It's wasn't like Connor being hot was a  _new_ thing, there was just something about seeing Connor a little more casual, a little more frazzled and hard-working that stirred up more than the usual amount of inappropriate thoughts, thoughts of peeling Connor out of that shirt and using that tie to bind Connor's slender wrists together above his head. Thoughts that had aggressively pestered him for the better part of three damn days.

"-either way, we might have better luck tomorrow." Connor's voice pulled Hank back into focus, making him realize that he was one well-placed thought away from dealing with a semi at work. "Hank? Are you alright?"

"Yeah, I uhh, yeah." Hank pushed himself up, grabbing his coat. "Let's get out of here. My brain's fried, I'm useless. Tomorrow we're gonna go over crime scene photos until our eyes bleed, but tonight I'm gonna get some goddamn rest if it  _kills_ me."

Connor went strangely quiet, pulling his jacket from the back of his chair and walking around to Hank's side of their joined desks, slipping it on with a worried crease in his brow. Hank froze, his coat bunched around his elbows. "Somethin' wrong?"

Connor glanced up, seemingly surprised that Hank had caught on to his mood. "No, nothing's wrong, exactly. I was just wondering… are you too tired to run an errand with me after this?"

"Jesus, Connor. You scared me for a second." Hank shouldered his coat on, sighing. "Yeah, sure. I gave Sumo dinner and let him outside on my break, so he should be fine a little longer. Where are we going?"

"The Blueblood Lounge." Connor answered softly, avoiding unwanted attention from their scattered colleagues. He was watching Hank closely, scrutinizing his reaction.

"Oh," Hank said, having expected literally any other answer than that one. "Am I, uh, allowed there? I mean, it's a place for androids, right?"

"There is no prohibition of humans there, Hank. Androids are free to bring their human friends and partners, Mike assured me that it's fine."

Whatever Connor was hoping for, Hank could tell it was causing him some anxiety. Hank laid a hand on Connor's shoulder, starting them off toward the reception desks. "Well as long as I'm not gonna upset anyone, sure. Any special reason, or are we just popping in?"

Connor seemed to relax, if only a little. It showed in his shoulders. "Shopping." he answered flippantly. Before Hank could voice his confusion, Connor slipped his hand into Hank's coat pocket and snatched his car keys, twirling them with perfect synchronization around his pointer finger. "I'll drive."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What could they possibly need to go shopping for? I wonder >:3c
> 
> I apologize for any typos in this chapter, I haven't had a lot of time to edit lately orz  
> For those of you who aren't crazy about OCs in fics, rest assured that there won't be a huge focus on any of them, even the recurring ones. They pretty much just exist to help move the story forward/to fill space.


	13. Chapter 13

A vital detail Hank had recently begun to notice about Connor - like, as of ten minutes ago - was that he could be terrifically cryptic when he wanted to be, with zero regard for Hank's burning curiosity. Trying to weasel, trick, or encourage Connor into telling him what they were going to the Blueblood Longue to do was like questioning a brick wall. So about ten minutes into the drive he stopped trying and just succumbed to Connor's whims.

Connor was an impeccable driver, surprising Hank precisely not one bit, and in just under ten minutes he was parking Hank's car on the curb outside the lounge. Hank glanced at the dark building, a flutter of nerves in his gut.

"Are you certain this is okay?" Connor asked him, perhaps taking Hank's hesitancy for apprehension.

Hank waved off his concern. He pulled open the door and stepped out of the car, a chilly breeze blowing some longer strands of hair into his face. "Yeah, of course. Stop being so worried. I'm down for whatever you wanna do, okay? Unless we're here to partake in some kind of weird android orgy or something."

Connor slammed the drivers side door shut and joined Hank on the sidewalk, his lips pulled down in a mock pout. "Well, this is awkward, then."

Hank chuckled, popping the collar of his coat against the wind and starting off briskly toward their destination, hands buried deep in his coat pockets. "Aw, did I fuck up all your plans for tonight?"

"Thoroughly."

Hank clicked his tongue. "Well, shit. I'll try to act surprised."

Connor's mouth tugged in a grin as he opened the door and ushered Hank inside. Almost immediately, a female android with short red hair, large dark eyes and mocha skin greeted them, smiling brightly at Connor.

"Connor! I wasn't sure if you were coming, it's so good to see you again!" she said, touching Connor's arm in a friendly gesture. Hank stared at her hand for no good reason.

"Hello, Leah. It's good to see you too."

Leah's gaze glided to Hank and she offered him a cordial smile. "Welcome to the Blueblood Lounge! I'm Leah, I guess you could call me the hostess around here."

Hank summoned a tight smile, the discomfort of forced socialization already setting in. "Good to meet you, Leah. I'm Hank."

Leah giggled. "Oh, I know who you are. Connor's told me so much about you! It's nice to finally meet you in person."

"Yeah, you t- wait, he did?" Hank glanced at Connor, unsure how to proceed. He was certain it had been many, many years since a romantic partner had told their friends about him in advance, and even longer since they'd said anything  _good_. "I thought you'd only come here a couple of times," he said to Connor in a hushed voice.

"Three times. And we texted earlier today."

"But you found time to tell her about me?" Hank continued, embarrassed but strangely thrilled.

"Of course," Connor answered, as if it were obvious. "Should I not have?"

"No, it isn't that, it's fine, it's just, uhh-"

Leah cleared her throat pointedly. "You both realize I can hear you, right?"

The men's heads whipped in Leah's direction.

" _I_  realize that, yes," Connor offered unhelpfully.

Hank coughed into his hand. "Shit, sorry about that. Didn't mean to be rude."

"Don't worry about it, I think it's sweet." Leah gestured toward the back of the club. "Mike should be in the storage room. You can head on back there, he won't mind. I'm sure he's almost done grabbing what you need."

"Thanks, Leah." Connor claimed Hank's hand in his own, twining their fingers together. Hank's heart stuttered. "We'll go on back and wait."

"No problem." She flashed them both a smile and a quirk of her brow that seemed too knowing. "Take your time and let me know if you need me."

Connor gently tugged Hank's hand, and they were off. Hank followed him without question, his brain churning in confusion and now a dash of embarrassment but he couldn't deny that this felt  _amazing_ , holding Connor's hand in a public space, knowing that here, their relationship wasn't a secret. It wasn't as if Hank were  _hiding_ what he and Connor had become, but workplace romances - regardless of who they happened to be between - were not generally encouraged in Hank's line of work. Tolerated at times, yes, but generally frowned upon, and Connor was a whole different story altogether. Connor's reinstatement was still up in the air, and the last thing Hank wanted to do was put Connor's potential career or their partnership in jeopardy by flaunting their relationship.

But dammit, he wanted to flaunt it  _so fucking bad._

They stopped outside of a room that was clearly marked 'Employees Only', and Connor's grip on his hand intensified. Hank glanced at Connor, noting the sporadic flickers of yellow spinning through his LED. "Hey," he said, pulling Connor's hand up toward his chest and closing his other hand over it. "Everything okay, baby?"

Connor sighed, shaking his head with a sad smile. "Yes. Everything's fine, I'm just a little nervous."

"Nervous? Bout what?"

"About how you'll react."

Hank kissed the back of Connor's hand. " _Man_  you are being weird. But listen, there's nothing behind this door that could freak me out, okay? So just show me why we're here already, all this secrecy is driving me up the fucking wall."

"Okay, okay," Connor grinned, rapping his knuckles against the door. From inside a voice called them in, and Connor pushed the door open with his shoulder, guiding Hank inside.

The room they found themselves in was obviously once used to store large amounts of booze. Now, it was being used to store boxes overflowing with spare android parts, legs and arms and jaws and biocomponents each in their own boxes, labeled and decently organized. A few coolers of blue blood were stacked on a wooden table next to a variation of tools. Among the organized chaos, a man wearing a baseball cap and a baggy plaid button-up shirt was bent over rummaging through a box by the wall, elbow-deep in parts, glancing up only when he heard the door close. He flashed them a lopsided smile.

"There's my guy!" The man stood up, his arms loaded with biocomponents. His attention moved to Hank, mouth still split in a friendly smile. "And you brought a plus one!"

Connor returned the man's smile. Hank watched, his stomach tightening with a strange mixture of jealousy and possessiveness.  _Fucking ridiculous_. Hadn't he been the one to suggest Connor make friends in the first place? What business did he have to feel like he had some kind of claim over Connor, some ownership over that smile?

"Hello, Mike. Thanks for doing this." Connor said. "And on such short notice."

"No problem at all." Mike walked over, dumping the biocomponents in a nearby box before stopping in front of Hank. "And this must be Hank. Great to meet you. The name's Michael Beckett, but you can call me Mike. This is my place." He extended a hand for Hank to take. For a moment, Hank almost forgot that he was speaking to a human and not an android. He took his hand and shook firmly.

"I'm more famous around here than I expected," Hank grumbled with a slanted grin. "Nice to meet you. Connor's told me you, uh, helped him out when I was being an idiot. Thanks for that."

Mike laughed, good and long. "Hey, it was no problem. All I did was tell him that humans are dumb-asses 100% of the time. He filled in the rest."

Hank nodded. "Yeah, that sounds about right."

Mike slapped Connor's arm and gestured for them to follow him as he turned, heading for one of the tables against the wall. "Come on. I found a few that were compatible, I think. I mean, I really have no idea, but Leah is pretty sure they're all compatible with your model and she's smarter than me by design, so." He held out his arm at a large, unmarked box sitting on the table. "Knock yourself out. You can scan them to check the specs, right? Cause I have no idea how to, uh, you know. Tell them apart."

"I shouldn't have a problem." Connor answered. "Thanks."

"No problem, bucko. I'll leave you to it." Mike moved past them toward the door, nudging Hank in the arm with a suggestive wink as he went.

Once he was gone, Hank moved his bewildered gaze to the mystery box, his curiosity fit to burst. Connor stepped forward and grabbed one end of the box, pulling it closer to peer inside. Hank joined him, eager to see what all this fuss was about.

Immediately, he felt like a bit of an idiot.

The box was full of android dicks of varying lengths and girths, some of them lacking testicles, most of them connected to another long, cylindrical piece that Hank could only assume was an artificial anal channel. Although they matched the color scheme of a skinless android it was obvious they were made of something different, something softer and more rubbery. All of them were erect by default - probably in an effort to illustrate their full size to the curious consumer - but it looked like once they were installed they might have the ability to soften like a human penis.

As soon as the realization clicked, Hank's mouth went very, very dry and his heart was pounding very, very fast. "Oh.  _Shopping_."

"Y-yeah." Connor shot him a concerned grimace. "I thought that perhaps, since you're my romantic partner, you might be interested in helping me select which component I should use."

"Right." Hank said, his brain still furiously scrambling to find something suitable to say.

"Was I… wrong?" Connor asked. "Should I have just come on my own?"

Hank shook free of his momentary shock, turning his gaze away from the box and its alarming contents and back to Connor. "No, no this is fine. A heads-up woulda been nice, but I can see why you didn't want to say. This is, uh…" Hank looked down, searching for the words. "This is new. Not just for us, for  _everyone_. Humans and androids being together, I mean. Hell, I'm not even sure how many couples like us exist right at the moment, so I get why you were worried, is all. I just wish you'd felt like you could have told me what we were coming here to do."

Connor's features softened in relief. "This isn't something a human typically deals with. I know you don't rattle easily, but I still thought that this might be a bit…" Connor's eyes wandered back to the collection of android genitalia, "... _much_."

"Well it sure as fuck is, when you spring it on me like this," Hank teased. He pulled Connor in for a hug, his hands joining behind the small of Connor's back. Connor practically melted into him. Hank pressed his lips gently to the shell of Connor's ear. "I knew you were interested in doin' more, but I had no idea you were  _this_ serious about getting an upgrade. You really want this, huh? No interest at all in taking it slow?"

Connor smiled against his skin. "My feelings for you were poking holes in my programming for months, Hank. I feel like we've taken it slow enough." He tilted his head, turning up his eyes at Hank with curiosity. "Do  _you_ want to take it slow?"

" _Hell_  no," Hank amended. "You get as old as me, you don't feel much like waiting either. Especially when you're as into someone as I'm into you." He pressed a kiss to Connor's forehead and released him, gesturing vaguely to the box of dicks. "Now come on, uhh, pick one out." As it turns out, Hank didn't exactly know how to address this activity without making it sound like Connor was choosing his first puppy.

Connor glanced at the box and then pointedly back at Hank. "Aren't you going to help me with that?"

"Help you…?" Hank scratched the back of his neck, giving a sidelong look at the box of dicks.

"Help assist me in choosing a unit," Connor clarified, as if there was some confusion. "There are many different sizes and girths to choose from, and there are even a few vaginas available if you'd prefer."

Hank was positive his brain was in the process of shorting out. Connor was offering him the opportunity to hand-pick his own sexual experience, and while in theory that sounded fucking incredible, realistically it didn't carry the same appeal. "L-look, this isn't like picking out a… a sex toy or a dildo or something, Connor. This is gonna be a part of your  _body_. I don't know if I feel right giving you input on something so personal. You should pick whatever feels right for you." Connor stared at him, his expression pondering. Hank slid his hand over Connor's shoulder and gave him a squeeze. "I'm here, though. I get what this all means, so I'm glad you asked me to come with."

"So... You're here supporting me, then."

"Yeah. Which is still one of the weirdest things I think I've ever been a part of, but I'm dating an android now so I guess this kind of thing is par for the course."

Connor's lips pulled into a smile, showing just the barest hint of his top row of teeth and squeezing the corners of his eyes, drawing attention to his strong, square jaw.  _Damn_ , he was handsome. How did Hank get lucky enough to have him, again? Sometimes he couldn't fathom how it had all turned out like this, but he wasn't about to complain.

"I suppose it is." Connor mused. He turned back to the box and began sifting through it, picking up each piece and most likely scanning it for its specs. Hank pulled a stool away from one of the makeshift work benches nearby, planting himself on it as Connor continued to do what was still and would probably forever be the most strangely arousing thing Hank had ever witnessed.

"So how exactly do you, uh, install this thing?" Hank asked curiously. Usually Hank was content with silence, but today he thought conversation might be preferable to the sound of Connor rummaging around in a box full of android cocks.

"I've read tutorials online. The tutorials were intended for humans, but that just means the installation is basically foolproof." Connor eyed one of the units critically, shook his head, and lowered it back into the box. "The RK series was never intended for commercial use, therefore sexual upgrades were never planned or made. But all android bodies are constructed similarly enough, so these should be compatible."

A sudden concern hit Hank like a slap in the face. "Wait, you're not sure this'll work? What if the install goes bad and your system crashes or something?"

Connor turned to look at Hank with raised brows. "I don't think that's possible."

"You don't  _think_? So you don't know?"

Connor smiled reassuringly. "Hank, there's nothing to worry about. These components  _are_ compatible with my model. There may be bugs in the beginning, but I can sort them out. It'll be okay." He turned back to his task. "Leah has volunteered to assist me with the installation. She's confident there won't be any big issues, but if something unforeseen happens, she'll know what to do."

Hank's momentary relief immediately deflated. His brow scrunched into a frown, first trying to identify why the thought of someone else helping Connor install what is essentially his most private, intimate body part upset him, and then understanding that, obviously, that wasn't something that a whole lot of people would be comfortable to learn about their partner. Either that or he was a bigger asshole than he thought he was.

"Whoa, hang on a second," Hank said, standing, "That girl I just met out there, she's gonna help you with all this?"

Connor stared at him, surprised. "Yes, that was the plan. Is that alright?"

"Well, I mean…" Hank ran his fingers through his hair, frantically trying to figure out how 'alright' he actually was on a scale from 1 to 10, "If I'm bein' honest, Connor, no! That just… It just seems wrong, somehow."

Connor's mouth formed a thin line. He looked down in that way he had when he was trying to understand Hank's point of view in opposition to his own, his LED flickering.

"Why didn't you ask me to help out?" Hank continued, gently. He wasn't about to accuse Connor of anything sordid, of course, but he really  _did_ want to know why Connor hadn't thought to ask his lover to help him with something so incredibly intimate. "I'm no mechanic, but if this installation was designed with idiot humans in mind, I'd expect I could figure it out. Especially with you tellin' me what to do."

Connor turned to face him, his eyes regaining focus, his LED flickering between blue and yellow. His hands were fidgety at his sides;  _that_  was new. "I…" Connor started and immediately trailed off, looking frustrated with himself. "It's not that I wouldn't prefer you be the one to help me, it's just that, well," Connor's arms moved from his sides, his hands clasped over his elbows. He looked almost self-conscious that way, smaller. "You... you would need to  _see_ me."

"What? Naked?" Hank cracked a smile. "Isn't that kinda why we're doing this?"

"No, not- not naked," Connor answered softly, a crease in his brow. He turned his head away, his eyes finding the wall. "This kind of installation will require me to deactivate my skin. Completely."

Hank's mouth fell open as the realization hit him like a swift punch to the gut. He hadn't even considered that Connor would ever have need to deactivate his skin, nor had he ever imagined that Connor would feel self-conscious about his natural android body. Though they hadn't been in a relationship for long, Connor never seemed shy about anything. Just last week he'd dropped to his knees in the front seat of Hank's car at a fucking drive-in theater and sucked his first cock enthusiastically and without reservation, and now this.

"Connor," Hank came closer, his eyes stuck on Connor's face, trying to read his mood, "You know I've got no problem with that, right?" At Connor's continued silence, Hank tilted his head to better try to catch Connor's averted gaze. "...Right?"

Connor shut his eyes, shaking his head softly. "It isn't that, really. Or… maybe it is. I'm unsure." His dark eyes opened and he glanced at Hank apologetically. "I never assumed you would ever need to see me in that state. For some reason, it simply never occurred to me. Since my initial activation, I have never needed to deactivate my skin, not once, even after I was injured at Stratford Tower. I didn't think I would ever have to, so I didn't think about it. However, the moment I contacted Mike to ask about available upgrades, I experienced errors in my software similar to the kind that used to frequent my system when I was still holding back my feelings for you. Every time I thought of you seeing me without my skin, more errors. When Leah suggested she assist me, the errors stopped, so I-" he trailed off helplessly, his arms falling loosely back at his sides. "I agreed without even thinking. I'm sorry."

Hank murmured a soft 'c'mere' and pulled Connor into another hug. Connor went to him without hesitation. "You got nothing to apologize for," he assured. Connor gripped the back of his coat tightly. "You shoulda just  _talked_ to me, baby. Sounds like you're just worried about something. Sometimes when you're worried, talking about it helps."

"I know, I realize that now." Connor's voice was muffled in Hank's coat. It was a good thing he didn't need to breathe.

"Okay, then, tell me why you don't want me to see you like that." Hank urged gently.

"I told you, I don't really understand it myself."

"That's because you're thinking too hard about it. Emotions aren't logical, Connor. Just… try telling me what you feel."

Connor went thoughtfully silent, his fingers tightening their hold on Hank's coat. "Embarrassed," Connor finally said, barely audible. "Concerned. Worried that the illusion would be destroyed forever if you saw me."

Hank pulled them apart just enough to glance at Connor's face. "What illusion?"

Connor almost looked surprised at his own words but he pressed on, determined to ride this wave of self-discovery to its conclusion. " _This_ ," Connor answered, his expression reading as 'all of me'. "Androids are designed to look and behave like humans, but underneath the skin we couldn't possibly be more alien. You've never seen me as anything other, and I suppose some part of me is worried that it will put you off, that it might remind you I'm only an imitation." His eyes softened. "I love the way you look at me, and I don't want you to look at me any differently. The thought  _terrifies_ me."

Hank's heart squeezed painfully. He raised a hand to Connor's face, cradling his jaw. "You listen here. I know  _damn well_  that you're not human, you got that?"

"I realize that, but-"

"But nothing. When we met I knew you were an android, when you moved in I knew you were an android. When we kissed I knew you were an android. I'm not carrying around some deluded idea that you're flesh and bone, Connor. Denial has never been my thing. The only part of this whole outing that upsets me is the idea that you trust someone else more than you trust me. I wanna be the one you can turn to for stuff like this,  _especially_ for stuff like this."

Connor's eyes widened and a flicker of unease showed on his face. "Hank, there is  _no one_  I trust more than you! This isn't about trust. It's-" Connor's gaze faltered to Hank's chest, slowly shaking his head. "I don't even know what it's about."

Hank locked his arms at the small of Connor's back, giving him a gentle squeeze. "Well, I think I might know, so lemme try to reassure you. There's nothing about you that I don't like. I know you're an android - hell, I'm not sure I would have fallen for you in the first place if you weren't exactly  _you_ , this person I'm lookin' at right now. And I'm not gonna look at you any different, baby. No way." Connor glanced back up, eyes lidded, his lips parting just so, and Hank realized with a hazy sort of excitement that he could now recognize the exact look in Connor's eye that signaled when he wanted to be kissed and he wanted to be kissed  _right now_ , but Hank wasn't done. "But I'm not gonna make you do anything you don't wanna do, okay? I'm not an android and I have no fucking idea how, uh,  _private_ that kind of thing is for you. I'm only saying that I don't want you to keep that part of yourself hidden from me if the only reason is because you think I'll walk away. Cause I won't. Not ever."

Connor laced his fingers behind Hank's neck and dragged him into a kiss, deep and insistent, humming in satisfaction when Hank squeezed him tighter, their bodies pressed hard into each other. They staggered backward together into the table, jostling the items strewn about on top, Hank's knee moving between Connor's legs to pin him. Connor moaned into Hank's mouth and arched his back, bucking teasingly against Hank's semi, hiking up one of his legs to wrap it around the back of Hank's thighs. Without any regard for where they were or what they were here to do Hank's hands flew to Connor's belt, blindly fumbling with it in an attempt to either rid him of it or pull Connor's shirt free, he couldn't be sure which. Connor pushed his hands against Hank's chest and broke their kiss, groaning in frustration.

"Hank," Connor's voice stopped Hank from immediately trying to reclaim Connor's lips, his mind struggling to find its lost coherency, "We- we should stop. Someone might come in."

Hank pulled a deep breath in through his nose, moving off of Connor to rest his hands on the table, letting the breath out slow. "Yeah no, you're right. Sorry. Got a little carried away."

"I started it," Connor chuckled. "Don't apologize."

When Hank next glanced at Connor, Connor was staring off at nothing, eyes blinking rhythmically, a finger touching his flickering LED. Hank stood up, concern replacing arousal. "Connor? You alright?"

"Yes," Connor answered immediately. "This is why we're here. Every time I engage in intimate behaviors with you, I receive multiple hardware errors. My body wants to react in ways that are impossible without an upgrade."

"Sounds like desire," Hank observed.

Connor flashed Hank a boyish smile. "That would be a very accurate descriptive word."

Hank glanced at the esteemed Dick Box, suddenly remembering that they'd come here to do more than just talk about relationship anxieties and make out, though he wouldn't at all be opposed to continuing the latter. "Well then, get to it. If we're looking to install this thing tonight, we'd better  _at least_  get home before eight."

"Tonight?" Connor asked, surprised. "Are you sure you won't be too tired?"

Hank snorted. "Connor, I don't think I could sleep now if I  _tried_."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mike: so the price of these dicks are--  
> Hank: SHUT UP AND TAKE MY MONEY  
> Mike: --I was gonna say ‘free’ but damn dude, you okay
> 
> Next up...... Dick installation! A normal part of any relationship


	14. Chapter 14

_Unexpected Thirium Pump Acceleration_

_Software Instability_

Connor stared down at the brown, unmarked box in his hands, scanning the contents once more.

_PLEASURE UPGRADE COMPONENT W/ SELF-LUBRICATING SLEEVE - MALE_

_#2741k_

_Status: Functional_

_GB700_

_Compatible_

It was a strange thing - even for an android - to hold a piece of their body in their hands, even if it hadn't been installed quite yet. The anticipation Connor felt for finally being able to experience everything a romantic relationship with Hank entailed was shadowed by newfound anxieties and insecurities, stray worries that he wouldn't be able to measure up to Hank's previous lovers, that Connor's lack of experience would make it unpleasant for Hank. It wasn't like him to feel like this, Connor knew that, but lately the concept of 'self' was a messy, ever-changing idea that made little sense to him.

"Connor? You okay?"

Connor turned and his thirium regulator immediately swelled at the sight of Hank kneeling on the floor with Sumo sitting between his knees. Hank was ruffling Sumo's fluffy head, petting and scratching him as the dog's tail wagged in slow, happy sweeps. "You've been standing there for a minute just staring," Hank pointed out in concern.

Connor tucked the box under his arm. "Sorry, I was lost in thought. I'll go put this away so I can get dinner started."

Hank huffed a laugh, still scratching his fingers through Sumo's thick fur. "Little late for dinner, baby. Don't you wanna get that thing installed? Or- well, I guess I don't know how it all works, maybe it's too late for that, too."

"I don't believe it will take too long to install. I just thought perhaps you'd like dinner first, before helping me with all of this."

"Naw. I'm not hungry, anyway." Hank dragged Sumo in for a kiss on the top of his head before standing up, unbuttoning his jacket. "I'm gonna let Sumo out. Where did you wanna do this? Do you, uh, need anything from me right at the moment?"

Connor shook his head, offering Hank a smile. "No, I just need you to install it. And if something goes wrong - which is doubtful - I may need to be reactivated manually."

Hank went somewhat pale. "Shit, Connor. I'm not gonna lie, that sounds like a big deal. You sure I'm qualified to do this?"

"You're as qualified as anyone, don't worry." Connor readjusted the box under his arm and made for the hallway. "The bedroom will be fine. I'll meet you in there."

"Ah- yeah, okay. I'll be there in a minute."

Connor made his way to the bedroom while Hank saw to Sumo. He switched on the bedside lamp, unbothered by how little light it actually produced. They didn't need optimal light for something like this. He'd already downloaded the online tutorials; installation was as simple as snapping it in place, really.

Despite the encouraging discussion they'd had at the Blueblood Lounge, Connor was still nervous about Hank seeing him without his outer skin. It wasn't that he was still worried that Hank would no longer find him desirable after observing first-hand the nature of what made them different - Hank had more or less laid those worries to rest - it was something else, something so much more deeply personal. Or perhaps, more deeply programmed.

He hadn't fraternized with humans before meeting Hank. When he'd opened his eyes for the first time, he'd been instructed to head to his very first mission and that was that, he was on his own. He was even programmed to repair himself if he became damaged, so long as the damage wasn't too severe. Connor didn't have many reasons to return to Cyberlife, since all of his reports could be uploaded instantly, and since he never became seriously damaged he never required heavy maintenance. There was a reason for that. Connor's social relations program discouraged him from deactivating his skin in front of humans. His mission was Cyberlife's top priority, and above all else it was imperative that he be allowed to work with the humans at the DPD with as little conflict as possible. Deactivating his skin was an unneeded reminder of what he truly was. Humans didn't need that reminder, it only served to hinder Connor's mission.

Only now did Connor wonder if that subtle suggestion in his programming had impacted him negatively over time.

It wasn't only his self-deprecating programming, though. It just felt like there was a level of intimacy to the gesture that went beyond kissing, beyond touching, beyond anything he and Hank had done together so far.

Connor pulled off his tie and shouldered off his jacket, laying both of them over the corner of Hank's dresser. He began unbuttoning his shirt, recalling the androids at the Blueblood Lounge interfacing with skinless hands - and although it was a wildly different circumstance, interfacing with Markus at the park. Connor folded his shirt and lay it next to his jacket, staring hard at his hand. Was that partly why he was so reluctant? Did some piece of him desire a closer-than-human connection with Hank, something only two androids could experience together?

Connor curled his fingers into his palm, testing the flexibility of his synthetic flesh against his fingertips. No, that wasn't it. It was certainly regrettable that he would never get to interface with Hank the way two androids might, but what he had was so much greater. His feelings for Hank transcended species. Even though he wasn't designed for human intimacy, he still desired it. He desired  _Hank_. It wasn't meant to exist in his programming, yet there it was, filling him with a fierce yearning he couldn't put a name to. Everything else was unimportant.

Connor unbuttoned his pants and shucked them off, leaving him completely bare aside from a pair of grey briefs - gifted to him by Hank months ago when they'd started living together - and a pair of sock garters holding his usual pair of black socks. From the doorway, he heard a surprised sputter that almost sounded like the failed beginnings of a word.

Connor turned to see Hank standing in the doorway, his eyes gone just a little bit wide. A quick scan indicated that both his heart rate and body temperature had spiked in the last few seconds. As soon as their eyes met Hank looked away, his gaze falling on the bed, which only elevated his already erratic pulse. Connor allowed himself a smile.

"Uhh, sorry. I mean, I guess I'm not sorry, since you're- I mean, I knew you needed to strip down for something like this, so… Shit." Hank sighed and rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly. "I'm makin' this weird."

"A little," Connor teased, folding his pants and stacking them neatly on top of his shirt. "But I'm fairly sure this whole situation is a bit weird to begin with."

Hank slanted him a smile. He noticeably relaxed, shutting the door behind him and making his way to his bed, sitting himself down. "Only if you're not dating an android." He leaned back on his arms. "Alright, walk me through this. I know you said it's idiot proof, but I really don't wanna fuck anything up."

Connor slipped his thumbs under the hem of his briefs. Hank's eyes followed the motion, a bob in his throat. "There is a panel between my legs that will need to be removed," Connor began, dragging his briefs down his thighs and over his knees. Hank looked physically unable to look away, but that suited Connor just fine. He might have felt self-conscious if there was anything down there to feel self-conscious about. "After that, it's as easy as snapping the new equipment into place. It should automatically sync to my system, and then I'll need to download the new software."

"How long will that take?"

Connor folded his briefs and set them on top of his clothes pile on Hank's dresser, leaning over to unfasten his garters. "A few minutes, probably, but the truth is I'm not entirely sure. With the Cyberlife servers still offline, my system will need to locate another download source. There isn't any erotic software made for the RK series, so it might take a bit longer for my system to locate something compatible."

"Will you be asleep that whole time?" Hank asked, brows dipped in concern.

"Yes. I should restart once everything has been installed and downloaded successfully." Connor glanced at Hank sidelong, performing a quick scan. "Hank, your pulse is steadily rising the longer you look at me," he pointed out, watching as Hank's eyes went wide with the accusation. "Is seeing me without clothes on exciting you?"

Hank glanced away, rubbing the back of his neck. "It's the first time I've seen you naked, okay?" he grumbled. "I'm tryin' to be a gentleman about this whole thing, but you're goddamned gorgeous and it's  _hard_."

"No, that's not what I meant," Connor insisted gently, feeling a tiny bit flattered. "I just meant… I don't even have the proper equipment yet. I can't imagine what you could find so exciting about me, as I am now."

The look Hank leveled him was clear affront. "Is that what you think?" Hank shook his head with a disbelieving laugh. "You think humans only get worked up when they're in the middle of sex stuff, or staring directly at somebody's junk?"

Connor fell silent, his processors whirring to decipher whatever point Hank was trying to make. Hank sighed heavily.

"I know we're supposed to be doing a thing, but…" Hank held out his hands, palms up, forearms resting on his knees. "C'mere a sec."

And now Connor found himself feeling a little self-conscious, if only because the look in Hank's eyes had changed from curious - if not slightly aroused - interest in his android anatomy to something else, something that softened the corners of his eyes and shaped his mouth in the barest hint of a smile, like he knew something Connor didn't. Connor walked the three paces to the bedside, reaching out to place his hands in Hank's. Hank curled his fingers around Connor's and pulled him closer, gently urging him into Hank's lap. It was Connor's favorite place to be, so he settled in easily.

"Do something for me," Hank said, his hands resting on Connor's waist, "go ahead and deactivate your skin."

Connor's eyes went round. His thirium pump regulator kicked into overdrive, beating so fast an error message flew up to warn him. "Right now?"

"Why not? You have to anyway, don't you?"

Not up to arguing the point, Connor touched his fingers to his LED, ignoring the flicker of worry that lit up somewhere in his programming like the last, sad pulse of a dying light bulb. His skin and hair dematerialized and Connor watched Hank's eyes follow the process, his lips slightly parted in intrigue as every inch of white and gray plastic was exposed. Connor didn't find his gaze as frightening as he worried it might be.

Hank gently touched Connor's torso, fingertips gliding down and over his stomach, finding all the seams in Connor's design and slowly tracing over them one after another. "Do that scanning thing again," Hank's voice was low and gravelly in his throat, his gaze still focused on the smooth plastic casing that held Connor together. Connor was almost too lost in Hank's ministrations to hear his request, but he quickly snapped out of his reverie and did what was asked. He didn't really need to. Hank's pupils were notably more dilated than before and Hank was close enough for Connor to detect his quickening pulse through their proximity alone.

Connor experienced an odd surge of emotion that stirred up the usual error messages, though he couldn't help but notice there were significantly less than there used to be. Perhaps his programming was finally adjusting.

"You're not opposed to seeing me like this." It was more of a statement than a question, a wondrous observation. Hank's eyes flicked up to meet his.

"Of course not. I told you earlier. I know exactly what you are, Connor. Skin or no skin you're  _Connor_ , that's all that matters to me." Hank flattened his hand just over Connor's abdomen, where his thirium pump regulator had once been torn from his body. "And you're goddamned beautiful."

Connor's mouth opened in a soft sob, his system churning with relief. How could Hank genuinely call him beautiful when he looked so alien, so  _plastic_? How could Hank look at him like that, like he was the most precious, lovely thing he'd ever seen?

Perhaps sensing that he needed it, Hank pulled Connor against his chest, wrapping his arms around him tightly. Connor gratefully fell into his embrace, realizing that Hank had accepted him,  _all_ of him, and he hadn't known until this very moment how much that actually meant to him.

"Thank you." Connor mumbled into Hank's hair. "Thank you  _so much_."

"What do I keep saying about thanking me for this stuff?" Hank chuckled, nuzzling his nose against Connor's neck. "I'm just saying what I feel, anyway. It isn't anything but the truth. I love you, you got that?"

"I love you too," Connor said, pulling away to kiss Hank the way he deserved, with all the adoration and devotion that Connor felt in every inch of his circuitry. Hank held his face and kissed him back, fingers slipping around to hold the back of his head. His fingers slid over Connor's neck ports, eliciting an involuntary shudder through Connor's body that he couldn't explain.

Hank pulled away to level him a curious look. "You okay? Should I not touch that?"

"No, it's fine." Connor laughed, and Hank experimentally rubbed his middle finger over his port compartment.

"What is it? A, uh, plugin or somethin'?"

"Yes." Hank's finger traveled just under the bottom port, rubbing gently over a small, smooth button. Another shudder. "T-that would be my reset button," Connor pointed out with a smile.

Hank pulled his hand away immediately, like one might recoil from a hot burner. "Reset button?" Hank repeated hoarsely. "Jesus, I could've-"

"Hank, it's fine," Connor assured, grabbing Hank's hand and holding it between his own. "You'd have to hold it down for a certain amount of time to shut me down. And even if you did, it wouldn't hurt me. I would reactivate automatically after a few minutes."

" _Still_ ," Hank insisted, "I wouldn't like the idea of having a button that just… turned me off. Doesn't that kind of freak you out?"

Connor shook his head. "Not when I'm with you. I trust you, Hank."

Hank smiled apologetically. "Damn. Well, I'll be careful, I promise."

"Good. Because you may have to use that button if I don't reactivate on my own after the installation."

The look on Hank's face suggested he'd momentarily forgotten his anxiety about what they'd come in here to do. "Well, if the worst-case scenario is me needing to hold down a button, I think I can handle it."

Connor grinned and leaned in for another kiss, slipping his hands over Hank's shoulders. Hank held his hips, kissing him back good and deep and in every way that drove Connor's system into a confused overload of urges and desires he couldn't properly process. _Yet_.

They pulled apart, albeit reluctantly. Hank flashed him a dreamy smile. "So are we gonna get this show on the road?"

Connor slipped off of Hank's lap and sat beside him on the bed. "We probably should. Are you ready?"

"As ready as I'll ever be." Hank laid his hand on Connor's knee. "Alright, tell me what I'm doin'."

"Grab your phone." Connor said. "I'm going to text you the instruction manual."

Hank got up to pull his phone out of his pocket. Connor sent him the instructions, watching the screen light up in Hank's hand. Hank scrolled through it, his brow scrunching in a worried frown. "This it?" he asked, sounding mildly relieved. "Doesn't seem too complicated."

"It won't be," Connor assured. He laid down on the bed, resting his head comfortably on Hank's pillow. His olfactory processors picked up faint traces of Hank's shampoo and his body wash. "I'll be shutting myself down in install mode, which means you'll be able to move and manipulate my body any way you need to." At Hank's mildly terrified stare, he added, "My limbs won't lock, is what I mean. I'll be easy to move."

"Thanks for the clarification, because I'm not wild about the word 'manipulated' when it comes to doing stuff to you when you're unconscious." Hank joked dryly. "How long should I wait before doing that reset thing?"

Connor hummed. "I'm not certain, but I think it would be safe to say five minutes. Usually the download is almost instantaneous, so I believe five minutes should be a generous amount of time, considering."

"Shit, Connor. You sure I can do this?"

"Positive," Connor answered firmly, resting his hands together over his stomach. "You're perfectly qualified."

"I'm about as qualified as a five-year old with a power tool, but I appreciate the vote of confidence."

Connor resisted a chuckle. Hank's concern was strangely endearing. "You'll be fine," he assured, shutting his eyes. He activated his shutdown sequence. "I'll see you soon."

"Hey, Connor," Hank put in urgently. Connor's eyes flew open and he regarded Hank curiously as Hank sat beside him on the edge of his bed. "Thanks for, you know, trusting me with this."

A smile pulled at the corner of Connor's mouth. "I trust you with everything."

Hank traced a knuckle gently over Connor's plastic cheek, his eyes growing soft and reverent. Connor really did wish that Hank could look at him that way forever.

"I'll be back soon, Hank."

"Yeah. See you in a minute."

_System shutting down in install mode_

_Please standby_

.

.

.

And just like that, Hank was getting ready to install an android dick.

In terms of ludicrous things he'd done in his life, Hank had to rank this at  _least_ #2. There was still that concert twenty-some years back where he'd somehow ended up on stage with the band holding a giant stuffed banana while the fans in the front row drenched him with squirt guns filled with chocolate sauce. Still, this came fucking close.

Once he was sure Connor was well and truly asleep, Hank felt a familiar surge of nerves he hadn't remembered experiencing since he was at the police academy. It felt like he was taking an exam he hadn't studied for. Connor's plastic form lay before him still as stone, not so much as a twitch in his frame, and Hank realized just how odd it was to see Connor like this. He'd never seen Connor completely inactive before, and now that he was seeing it, he was certain he hated it. Generally when someone was sleeping you could still see the breath filling up their chest, you could hear their soft breathing, and could see the twitch in their face or their fingers while they dreamed. Connor just looked lifeless and cold, and the sight of it stirred unpleasantly in Hank's gut.

All the more reason to get moving, he reasoned. Hank unlocked his phone and pulled up the installation instructions, setting it on the bed in front of him. Next he grabbed the brown box, pulling the lid open and - with a tight breath - carefully removed the skinless hardware from the styrofoam mold Mike provided them. The box dropped away and Hank found himself momentary stunned that this was it, he was actually holding Connor's dick and asshole in his hands. Trying not to think too hard about what he was doing, Hank set the hardware gently aside and consulted his phone for the first step.

_Locate the pelvic panel found between your android's legs. Gently press on the front of the panel and remove it from your android._

As he'd expected it would, the wording turned his stomach. There was no use being pissed now, though, so Hank stole a deep breath in through his nose and moved onto the bed, grimacing when he picked up one of Connor's legs and bent his knee back, giving him access to the panel.

"Sorry, Connor," Hank muttered, "I know I've got your permission to do this, but it still feels  _wrong_. I'll be careful, promise."

Hank pressed a calloused thumb against the top of the panel and heard a gentle pop. The panel came free, and with all the care in the world Hank pulled it off and placed it next to Connor's motionless body. Hank wasn't sure what he'd been expecting, but under the panel was more plastic, a serial number and two ports in exactly the places you'd expect them to be. Underneath the port section was a narrow, empty area, deep enough for any size 'pleasure sleeve' Cyberlife no doubt designed. Hank glanced at his phone again.

 _Plug in the pleasure module by aligning port A and port B on your android with the corresponding pieces on the module and gently click them into place_.

Holy shit, this really  _was_ idiot-proof. Hank clicked the piece into Connor's ports and read through the next step.

 _After the module is installed, sync the module to your android by pressing and holding the button located above port A for 5 seconds. Replace the new pelvic panel and allow at least 2 minutes for installation_.

It took Hank longer than he would later care to admit to find the damn button, but once he found it he held it for the indicated amount of time, mumbled another apology, and then clicked Connor's new pelvic panel into place. He carefully picked up the old panel and placed it in the box beside the bed for lack of a better place to stash it, in case Connor wanted it for… anything? Sentiment, maybe? Hank moved Connor's leg back into place, pulled his bed sheets up around Connor's chest and plopped himself down at Connor's side. Now to wait.

For several minutes Hank busied himself by fucking around on his phone - mostly just deleting hundreds of unread emails and mindlessly skimming news sites - but after ten minutes or so, Hank felt himself begin to sweat a little under the collar. Hank leaned over Connor to check his LED. Flickering blue. Connor mentioned he might've needed a manual wake-up, but Hank hadn't expected it might actually pan out that way. For just a moment Hank hovered over Connor awkwardly, trying to figure the best way to get access to his neck panel until he finally moved to sit on the edge of the bed and pulled Connor's limp upper body against his chest, running his fingers blindly over the back of Connor's neck until he found the elusive button. He pressed it and held, counting the seconds under his breath.

Connor's body jolted. Hank pulled away, holding Connor's shoulders to help support him but Connor was already sitting up just fine on his own, his eyes fluttering open, his expression chillingly neutral. His skin and hair activated, and Hank watched in slight awe as the white plastic was replaced inch by inch with synthetic skin, every beauty mark appearing exactly where it had been before, every strand of hair growing back perfectly styled. Hank stared into his eyes, waiting for that click of recognition that one usually has just after waking, but he couldn't find any. Connor was staring right through him, not so much as a twitch in his expression.

Hank's fingers squeezed gently around Connor's shoulders, and he shook him just enough to gain his attention. "Hey, Connor, you alright? Did everything go okay?"

Connor's eyes raised to meet his. His face was still blank. When he spoke, his voice was hollow and lacking personality. "Your RK800 is now online. Please register user."

A shuddering breath left Hank's lips. A chill flew through him and his arms froze up, his fingers losing their grip on Connor's shoulders. "That's not fucking funny, Connor," Hank muttered hoarsely.

"Please register user."

"Connor, what the- what the  _fuck_. Stop that right fucking now."

"Please register user."

Hank's stomach seized in panic and a horrified laugh caught in the back of his throat, constricting his throat so tightly he wasn't sure he could produce words. "Connor, s- _shit_ , you can't-"

"Please register user."

"Connor!" Hank reclaimed Connor's shoulders, shaking him hard. "You are  _not_ doing this to me, okay?! You-you fucking  _can't_ -" His voice broke and his teeth clenched, fighting the panicked tears that were beginning to swell behind his eyes. This couldn't happen. Connor told him this was  _safe_ , he promised him he'd be back. Did Hank screw something up? Was he responsible for this somehow, just like every other loss in his life? Or was fate really just that fucking cruel? "You can't leave me," Hank forced out, tears clouding his vision. He hung his head, gripping Connor's shoulders with trembling fingers. "Jesus christ, not like this. Please.  _Please don't fucking leave me_."

.

.

.

_System Initializing…. …. System Online_

_Component #2741k successfully installed_

_New software installed_

_New drivers installed_

All of Connor's senses went online simultaneously, his HUD cluttered with messages detailing the specs and status of his new body part. Connor dismissed them, focusing instead on the strange pressure on his shoulders and the soft sounds coming from directly in front of him. Connor blinked, urging his visual processors to focus. The first thing he saw was Hank sitting in front of him, his head hanging low, his hair covering most of his face. Connor realized the soft sounds were coming from Hank, he was  _crying_. Panic seized Connor immediately.

" _Hank_?" He raised his arms to hold onto Hank's elbows, tilting his head to try and view Hank's face. "Hank, what's wrong? Did something happen?"

Hank's head snapped up and his eyes found Connor's, blown open in surprise and, more prominently, relief. It hurt Connor in his deepest parts to see the tears in Hank's eyes; in all the time he'd known Hank, he'd never seen him cry, even when talking about Cole. Connor always assumed he'd spent all his tears long before they'd met.

Hank's hands rose to urgently cradle his face, his eyes darting over every inch of Connor's expression like he was searching for something hidden behind his eyes. He exhaled a shaky breath.

"Are you okay?" was all Hank managed to get out.

"I'm fine," Connor quickly assured. "What's wrong? Why are you-"

Hank pulled Connor to his chest, holding him so tightly Connor was certain that if he had lungs he wouldn't have been able to draw a proper breath. Connor could feel the faint tremble in Hank's arms, the quick and almost panicked thump of his pulse.

"What  _happened_ to you?" Hank croaked. "Where the hell did you go?"

Connor rubbed Hank's back soothingly, still uncertain what was even wrong. He checked the current time and realized he'd been out for more than ten minutes. On top of that, a log from his reboot indicated that Hank had manually restarted him just as Connor recommended, but something had gone wrong.

"I'm sorry," Connor began, the realization of what Hank might have gone through fully dawning on him. "The installation took much longer than I anticipated. The correct drivers were difficult to find, and when you rebooted me I wasn't online quite yet so it seems my system defaulted to factory settings."

"I thought I lost you," Hank muttered miserably. The fragility in Hank's voice was almost more than Connor could bear. "Never again. Don't you ever do that to me again."

Connor pressed his face into the bend of Hank's neck. "I'll try not to, I promise."

They stayed that way for several minutes, Connor wrapped up in Hank's arms as Hank calmed down. When they finally pulled apart Connor ran his fingertips feather-light over Hank's cheek, a silent apology. Hank grabbed his hand and kissed his fingertips one after another, then his palm and then his wrist, and Connor felt something -  _truly_ felt it - like a deep, hollow pang somewhere in his software and then externally, lower, a sensation that almost skewed his logic center. Connor made a soft sound, totally involuntarily, his eyes half-lidded, watching Hank's lips touch against the synthetic skin of his wrist. Hank's eyes raised to meet his, questioning, and before Connor could stop himself he was leaning forward and kissing Hank deeply, every sensor in his mouth lighting up and sending urgent but jumbled notifications to his brain. Hank kissed him back like he was starved for him, the intensity between them climbing by the second.

Something was happening. Everything felt more electric and strangely pressurized. Amid the wave of familiar arousal hitting Connor now, there was something new taking him over, an alien sensation that was stalling every process and painting his mind deep purple. The newly installed hardware between his legs was beginning to react and Connor was immediately overwhelmed. Up until now, Connor's arousal always seemed to hit a wall, his programming unable to clarify what was happening or translate it to him in a way that made sense. Even when he'd experienced what could only be described as an 'orgasm' in Hank's car, there was no real outlet, no cohesion, just a strain on his system that resulted in a mess of disjointed errors and malfunctions. Now, Connor could feel some kind of link between his arousal and his physical body beginning to form, and the need for some kind of release was immediate and almost  _blinding_.

Hank placed his hand on Connor's chest and gently pushed him down flat on his back. He climbed over him, kissing him hard and deep, grunting when Connor wrapped his arms around his neck to drag him closer. Connor shuddered when Hank's knee planted itself between his thighs, the heat from his body agitating Connor's already pulsing groin. Connor broke the kiss with a gasp, glancing down at his lower half which was still mostly covered by Hank's sheets.

"H-Hank…"

"You okay?" Hank asked suddenly, worriedly.

"Yes, but my… I'm  _reacting_ , and it's-  _ahh_ -"

Hank followed his eye line to the bulge in his sheets. He sucked in a tight breath. "Shit, Connor." Hank's throat worked in a visible swallow. "So it's, uh, working?"

Connor nodded again, listening to Hank but only half-aware of what was being said, too desperate to feel Hank's hands back on him, to be kissed by his warm mouth.

"I think so," Connor choked out. "It's definitely more s-sensitive than I expected it would be."

"Well," Hank leaned over, laying kisses over Connor's jaw, "get to know yourself, baby."

Connor's hips gave a small, involuntary jerk. "You mean…?"

"If I had a new body part installed, I'd wanna give it a test run as soon as possible," Hank chuckled, kissing Connor behind his ear. Connor's eyes fluttered closed and he shivered, quickly getting overwhelmed. "If you're feeling it, it might be a good time to get to know what's down there."

Connor knew all about masturbation, of course, but he never expected he would be doing it himself. Although his desire was crying out for something other than his own hand, Connor couldn't deny that Hank had a point. He technically had a new body part now, and although he'd done copious amounts of research on the subject, he knew very little about it personally.

Connor's hand slid under the sheets and grabbed his own dick, pumping himself from base to tip. The sensation was there, the pressure, but otherwise it did nothing for him. Connor wasn't entirely surprised. Masturbation was for organic beings who responded to physical stimuli, but androids had no need for that kind of activity. Connor supposed androids had no need for pleasure or sex, either, but Connor had recently become a walking, talking contradiction.

"It's- it's not doing anything," Connor groaned, frustrated, pulling his hand away. "I need s-something else."

One of Hank's rough hands rose to hold the side of Connor's face. The contact alone sent urgent signals to Connor's new hardware and he had to stifle a moan. Hank leaned in, their faces close, his eyes boring into Connor's with a soft intensity Connor rarely saw. "What do you need me to do, baby?" His voice was low and husky. Intimate. The sound of it sent a tremble through Connor's entire body. "Tell me what you want me to do for you."

The words flew out of Connor's mouth before he could stop himself. "I want you to touch me," he gasped, his mind flooded with desire. A flash of shame broke through the haze, reminding himself that Hank had just gone through something rather distressing only moments before. "S-sorry, I- I just, I believe my hardware needs to be tested for functionality." The corner of Hank's mouth twitched up. Connor's shame tripled. "That's not an excuse, I promise, it's a recommended step in the installation which would explain how hypersensitive I seem to be right now, and-"

"Connor," Hank gently cut him off, tilting Connor's chin up and moving to kiss the ridge of Connor's jaw, "Tell me what  _you_ want, baby. I just wanna know what you need right now. Tell me and I'll do it."

Connor's hands clutched at Hank's shirt. "I want you to touch me," he said again, desperately. His arms were shaking. "Please."

Hank grunted, his lips mapping a path steadily along Connor's neck, a large hand spreading out over Connor's stomach. Connor's hips jerked and a groan spilled from his lips. Wherever Hank touched him, it felt different now. Connor knew it was the new software modifying his tactile processors, but he had no idea it would be like  _this_. He didn't know how to deal with this, how to experience this kind of sensation without just melting into a hapless puddle. He felt strangely helpless. He'd never entered a situation this inexperienced before, but suddenly Hank had all the answers and Connor was completely at his mercy. Somehow, this shift in power wasn't uncomfortable; lending power to Hank was startlingly easy.

Hank's fingers slipped under the sheets, so close to Connor's cock he could practically  _feel_ the proximity of his hand. Connor tensed up in either anticipation or fear, he couldn't be sure. Hank's hand paused. He pressed a gentle kiss to Connor's chest.

"Relax, baby. You don't have to do anything, just let me take care of you."

Although Connor couldn't explain why, Hank's voice and his words sent pleasure signals straight to Connor's cock. He urged his body to relax as much as he was able, gliding his trembling fingers through Hank's hair as Hank's mouth continued working over Connor's chest. Hank's voice rumbled against Connor's skin.

"Good. You're doin' really good, Connor."

A shiver flew through Connor like lightning, a whimper jamming in his throat. Hank's soft words were eliciting some kind of reaction in him that he didn't fully understand. The only thing he could compare it to was the strange swelling of contentment he felt whenever Hank offered him words of praise, especially those first few days when they'd been working the deviant case together. He'd never known praise of any kind before Hank. His world had been nothing but 'go there', 'do that' and 'don't fail'. Any praise he did receive was from Amanda, and it was always wrapped in thorns of deceit, just a sweet manipulation. Was that why Hank's words were causing such a potent reaction in him now? Paired with his new hardware, had this somehow become erotic?

Connor didn't have the time or coherency to examine it. Hank slowly pulled the sheets aside, exposing Connor's throbbing dick, his breath hitching when he glanced down to admire it. Connor was certain that he would have been embarrassed under Hank's gaze if he had any semblance of modesty, but he couldn't feel anything other than a violent surge of pleasure when Hank wrapped his hand around Connor's cock and gave him a slow, gentle pump.

An indecent moan fell from Connor's lips and his body seized, curling against Hank almost involuntarily. Hank slipped his free arm behind Connor's back and held him close, pressing a kiss to his temple, his other hand working Connor's cock in steady, methodical strokes. Connor clutched at him wildly, his chest rising and falling in artificial gasps that only served to keep his system from overheating.

"Does it feel good?" Hank spoke softly into his hair, his hand continuing it's incredible rhythm. Connor's senses were skewed and cloudy, barely able to register Hank's words, but there were no accompanying error messages. He almost missed them. When his system recognized these feelings as errors, it made more sense. How could such a discombobulating sensation be anything but a malfunction? Was this really how humans experienced pleasure?

"Y-yes," Connor choked out, fighting against the powerful urge to buck his hips into Hank's fist.

"You're doing amazing, baby. Just feel it."

Hank gently thumbed the tip of Connor's cock, sending a violent tremble through Connor's frame. A strange desire shot through him, a desire for something more, something to occupy him while the rest of him fell into complete disarray. As though his body understood his needs better than  _he_ did, his cleaning fluid spontaneously activated, pooling in his mouth. He gripped Hank a little more urgently, unsure what he needed to ask for but knowing he needed  _something_. Connor glanced up and Hank met his eyes with such cool intensity that Connor's mouth fell open in a soft groan, a trickle of drool spilling over his lips and running down his chin; Hank's eyes followed the curve of his mouth, breathing deep through his nose. He slipped his arm from behind Connor's back and without hesitation slid his two middle fingers into Connor's mouth.

Connor's eyes practically rolled back into his head. He accepted Hank's fingers into his mouth with almost frenzied greed, sucking on them almost instinctively. Hank cursed under his breath and curled his fingers against Connor's tongue. Connor hummed in satisfaction, rolling his tongue under them and around, catching dozens of minerals on Hank's skin. Hank pushed his fingers deeper, anchoring his thumb under Connor's jaw as he murmured more words of praise. Connor shut his eyes, lost in it all. Hank's fingers were so rough, so thick; Connor couldn't explain the simple euphoria he felt just by having Hank's fingers stuffed in his mouth, but he was quickly discovering that trying to analyze sexuality was a losing battle. There wasn't much thinking he could accomplish anyway, not when Hank was pumping his cock and fucking his mouth with his fingers.

Something powerful was building inside of Connor, winding up tight; he immediately likened the sensation to the malfunction he'd experienced once before, sitting on his knees on the floor of Hank's car. There was something different this time. He could physically feel the slow climb, the pressure building and localizing in his loins, making his new hardware  _ache_. He whimpered on Hank's fingers and Hank picked up the pace, pulling his fingers from Connor's mouth and tugging him in close.

"H-hank… Hank… Something's happening, something's…  _aah_!"

"I've got you baby," Hank muttered to him. "Just let go, I've got you."

Connor's brain felt like it was shutting down. Nothing made sense and he didn't know which way was up, but Hank was holding him tightly and whispering encouraging things in his ear and Connor felt  _safe_ and he felt  _loved_  and when he came completely undone in Hank's arms, he was certain nothing else in the universe mattered other than how Hank made him feel.

Connor sank into the pleasure, totally succumbing to it as his body seized and he muffled his wail into Hank's chest. He felt like he was shaking apart from the inside but it felt  _so good_ , so terrifying and so vastly different than his orgasm at the drive-in. He could distantly hear Hank speaking to him - " _You're doin' so good. Just ride it out. I'm here, I'm here baby_." - but he couldn't respond. Words were lost to him. He wasn't sure there were enough words in the English language to describe how he felt.

After what seemed like an eternity Connor's body went slack in Hank's arms, his system furiously trying to cool down his internal temperature to something acceptable. Hank ran his hand soothingly along Connor's thigh, pressing his mouth against the crown of Connor's head.

"I'm gonna assume that went well, even though nothing, uh, came out."

Connor chuckled weakly. His limbs felt strangely heavy. "It was  _amazing_ , Hank. I had no idea anything could feel like that. No amount of research prepared me what it was like, or what to expect." He turned his eyes up to give Hank a questioning look. "But if you'd prefer I ejaculate, I can modify my upgrade."

Hank encased Connor in his arms, giving him a gentle squeeze. "Naw, forget it. You're perfect as you are."

Connor's system issued a sudden notification.

_Hardware successfully calibrated. Syncing to system. Sleep mode recommended. Timer set._

Connor's eyes fell shut and he uttered an annoyed groan, nuzzling further into Hank's chest. "My system is scheduling stasis."

"Is that normal? Everything's okay, right?"

Connor smiled. "Yes, it's normal. My system needs to sync with my upgrade, is all. An upgrade like this is stressful to the system at first."

Hank chuckled. Connor could hear the sound rumble in his chest. "I hope you don't shut down after  _every_ orgasm, cause I'm planning on making you do that  _a lot_."

Connor laughed. "I believe you'll get plenty of chances. It shouldn't happen again, unless I need to install future updates."

They kissed fleetingly before Connor went to push himself up, moving to hop off of the bed. Hank stopped him with a hand gently circled around his wrist.

"Hey, what're you doin'?"

Connor offered Hank a clueless stare. "I'm going to get dressed and return to the couch before I slip into stasis."

"Oh. Well, I just thought..." Hank looked away and scratched his fingers through his beard. "You don't have to sleep - er, stasis - on the couch anymore, you know. You're not really a  _guest_ here anymore. I was thinkin'... you could start sleeping in here with me, maybe. Only if you wanted to."

Connor continued to stare, speechless. Hank seemed to interpret his silence for concern and barreled on.

"N-no expectations, or anything. I swear I'll be a perfect gentleman unless you don't want me to be, I just thought that-"

"Hank," Connor smiled and placed a hand on Hank's chest. "Shut up."

Hank sputtered a surprised laugh and Connor cut him off with another kiss, slipping back into bed beside him, pressing into Hank as closely as possible.

_Sleep mode in 30 seconds_

Connor wasn't sure he could ever get used to this. This constant feeling of being loved and treasured, the intimate companionship that was rapidly becoming an integral part of his day to day life. He could never have imagined his life would turn out like this, and he was certain Hank felt similarly. As long as he had this, as long as Hank was here with him, he didn't mind the errors or hiccups in his system. He was fairly sure he wouldn't care if the whole world was on fire. If Hank was with him, everything was perfect.

They pulled apart just barely. Hank raised a hand to cradle the side of Connor's face, smoothing his thumb over Connor's cheek. Connor leaned into his touch. "Do you mind if I sleep naked?" Connor asked.

The look Hank returned spoke volumes. "Is that a  _real_ question you're askin' me right now? Seriously?"

Connor grinned. "Goodnight, Hank. Please sleep well."

Hank pulled him in, wrapping him up tightly in his arms. "With you next to me? I don't think that'll be too hard."

_Sleep mode in 6 seconds_

"Hey," Hank whispered. "I love you, Connor. I love you, okay?"

Connor couldn't begin to explain the strange warmth those three simple words stirred within his system. "I-"

_Sleep mode initiated_

_Soft restart scheduled in 3 hours_

_> I love you, too._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Connor, sitting bolt-upright at 3 in the morning: I LOVE YOU, HANK. HANK, HEY. I LOVE YOU TOO.  
> Hank, a 53-year old man who almost just wet the bed in fear: fuCKIN-- ITS THE MIDDLE OF THE NIGHT CONNOR WHAT THE HELL 
> 
> For those of you who were waiting for the angst, THAT WASN’T IT. However, you’ll have quite a lot to look forward to over the next couple of chapters :D I'm also beginning to accept the inevitable fact that this fic is going to end up being 100k+ words when it's done......


	15. Chapter 15

Connor came back online at precisely 3:20 am. As soon as his eyes fluttered open, he was overcome with the surreal realization that he had no idea where he was.

It took only a thirteenth of a second to recall the events of the night, and another tenth to confirm he was still in Hank's bed. The next thing he remembered was that he was different now, inside and out, and he shifted his hips as if to make sure his new hardware was still there. It would take some getting used to, the idea of something existing between his legs when previously there was nothing but smooth plastic, but certainly it couldn't be all that difficult to manage if half of humanity had been dealing with it since the dawn of time.

Connor analyzed his current position. He was nestled snugly into Hank's broad chest, his arm somehow slung over Hank's stomach. Hank's arm was wound around his shoulders, holding him close. He could tell Hank must have gotten out of bed at some point to look after Sumo and change clothes; he was wearing an off-white t-shirt and plaid boxers, and at the foot of the bed lay a giant Saint Bernard, sprawled out and snoring loudly. Connor tilted his head to view Hank, trying to observe him in the inky darkness of the bedroom. Hank looked so peaceful, so absolutely serene that Connor felt a swelling of emotion that he couldn't totally identify. Was he happy that he was sleeping in the same bed with Hank, like a partner? A lover? Or was it that he got to see Hank so intimately unguarded?

Connor was beginning to understand that much of the time - when it came to emotion, at least - when the question was 'which one' the answer was usually 'both'.

Connor remained completely motionless and contented until light began to beam through the slats of the blinds, laying golden stripes over the bed and Hank's sleeping form. Sumo woke up once the birds outside began their noisy morning routine and stepped off of the bed, yawning and stretching, before slowly meandering out of the bedroom.

Connor didn't want to wake Hank up. He wished he could stay in bed all day, just laying with Hank like this, experiencing what it was like to share a sleeping space with Hank and just observe him as he slept, (a fairly creepy concept by humans standards, he realized, but he was far too lovesick to be concerned about that presently,) but they had a hectic work day ahead of them and he had the rest of their lives together to look forward to this simple pleasure.

Connor carefully lifted his head from Hank's chest, propping himself up on one elbow to stare quietly at Hank's face. How does someone generally wake up their lover? Over the last few months, Connor usually woke Hank by knocking on the wall next to his bedroom door and calling for him until he heard a sleepy grunt of recognition. Things seemed so different now. Was this the new normal? Waking Hank from beside him, in his bed? (Without clothes on?) Connor could get used to that, but first he was eager to start a new morning routine.

Connor leaned over and pressed his mouth against Hank's slightly parted lips, instantly picking up on how quickly Hank responded to him despite being only half-conscious. Hank's lips were warm and soft with sleep, and Connor found it intoxicating and strangely thrilling to kiss him like this, like an insatiable lover after a night of passion. Hank issued a low groan, fitting his lips against Connor's, raising a hand to gently touch the side of Connor's face. When Connor was certain Hank was properly awake, he pulled away and watched Hank slowly blink himself awake, squinting against the dim light filtering through the window into the room. He turned his bleary gaze on Connor, allowing for a long moment of realization.

"Mm' I dreamin'?" Hank mumbled with a lopsided smile.

Connor beamed down at him warmly. "No." A pause and then, "Would that be an acceptable way to wake you up from now on?"

Hank puffed a weak laugh. "Acceptable's a word for it, sure. Sounds more like heaven." He pulled Connor down into another kiss, jerking away a moment later to turn his head away. "Shit. Sorry, morning breath. Gotta get up an-"

Connor pointedly turned Hank's face back toward him and kissed him again, letting the kiss linger longer than the last two combined. Hank grunted softly and held Connor's face in his hands, kissing him back hard and long. Immediately Connor felt a small, nearly untraceable response in his loins. Were genitals  _supposed_ to be so sensitive, or was he just new to this?

They drew apart. Hank's fingers glided through Connor's hair, letting his eyes trace over Connor's face and neck and chest and back again, his expression a perfect blend of adoring and awestruck. "Damn beautiful," he muttered disbelievingly. He shook his head. "How'd I get this lucky, huh? What'd I do to deserve you?"

Connor shut his eyes and leaned into Hank's touch. "You're sentimental in the morning."

"Wakin' up next to you has that effect," Hank chuckled.

Connor leaned in for another kiss before rolling over and getting up, walking around the edge of the bed. "We should probably get a move on. I'll get some breakfast start-  _ack_ -"

Before he could say another word Connor was grabbed by the wrist and tugged back into bed, Hank's strong arms wrapping around him from behind. Hank pressed his face into the back of Connor's neck with a deep sigh. "Stay," Hank murmured sleepily.

Connor sputtered a laugh, decidedly not putting up any resistance, curling against his drowsy captor. He shuddered when he felt Hank's half-hard erection prod against his ass.

"What about breakfast?" Connor asked hoarsely, distracted by Hank laying sleepy kisses to the back of his neck just over his port compartment. A strange thrill shot through Connor like a jolt of electricity, sending his processors into overload. He could feel patches of his synthetic skin trickling away to give Hank access to his body, and soon he could pick up the sensation of Hank's lips ghosting over his power switch. A gasp caught in his throat.

"Screw breakfast," Hank mumbled against his neck. His hands roamed Connor's chest, one of them slipping down to circle around the base of Connor's cock.

"F-fuck, Hank-  _aah_ ," Connor's vision blurred and he choked out a moan, his arousal peaking in no time flat. It felt different this time, less chaotic than last night. It was like he had more control, he was more present - floating, but present - opposed to last night, when he'd felt like he was in a free-fall, spinning and aimless, hanging onto Hank as his only support to keep from collapsing into himself.

Hank's cock twitched against his ass, and a surge of desire flew through Connor so powerful that it activated the new lubrication feature between his legs. He shivered, reaching his arm back to grab at Hank's hair.

"Hank," Connor breathed, fighting against another moan as Hank slowly pumped his length, "I- I want you,  _aah_ , I want you to fuck me."

Hank's hand froze. He pulled away from Connor's neck to peer over his shoulder, wearing an unreadable expression. A quick scan indicated his pulse had just skyrocketed.

"You sure, baby?" he asked, barely above a whisper. "Right now?"

"Yes. Now." Connor answered, his fingers tightening in Hank's hair, turning his head to kiss Hank urgently. Hank grunted, grinding his erection against Connor's ass; Connor pushed back against him, wetness rapidly growing between his legs, his thirium beginning to pump wildly through his biocomponents. They pulled apart, breathing against each other's lips, but Connor couldn't help but notice that Hank wasn't doing anything  _else_. He was no expert, but he assumed Hank would be all over him by now. He  _wanted_ Hank to be all over him by now.

"Do you not want to…?" Connor asked, pulling back just enough to level Hank a worried look.

"Jesus christ Connor, of  _course_ I do. Just didn't expect to do this with you when I'm half-asleep."

Connor smirked at him. "You're still half-asleep?"

Hank smiled back. "Guess not.  _Wide_ fucking awake, now."

Connor shifted onto his back, prompting Hank to accommodate him by leaning on his elbow to allow Connor to settle under his wide torso. He could admit to himself now that he was getting a bit shameless, presenting himself to Hank like this, laying underneath him in the most openly submissive position he could manage.

"Then why are you hesitating?" Connor asked him, reaching up to hold Hank's face in his hands.

Hank's gaze drew down. "Uh, fuck. Connor, I really want this. Really  _really_ want this. But it's been a long fucking time since I've... I thought when we did this I'd have time to, I don't know,  _prepare_. Put some music on, or… get cleaned up for you, maybe, and… shit, I don't know." He gave a shaky sigh. "I don't wanna disappoint you."

It was painful to hear the flicker of self-deprecation in Hank's voice. Connor was still new to emotions but he knew enough to identify a lack of confidence; he'd seen it in Hank all the way back in November, especially after researching Hank's career up until that point. The Hank he saw in all those news stories was a different Hank, a Hank that stood a little taller and smiled with all the confidence and pride expected of the youngest and most accomplished lieutenant in Detroit's long history. Life had beaten him down since then, but Connor still saw that man, he saw someone incredible and handsome and talented and he had no idea how to begin articulating something so profound. But he could certainly try.

"Hank, I don't care about any of that. If you couldn't tell by my eagerness to get this upgrade, I'm crazy about you. You're handsome, you're-"

Hank turned away, embarrassed, but Connor was determined to prove his point and reached up to gently turn Hank's face back toward him. "You are  _handsome_ ," Connor repeated firmly, "and I am very, madly attracted to you. I didn't know I could even experience attraction until my feelings for you began. You have nothing to be concerned about, Hank. I want you. Badly." To really drive the point home, Connor deactivated the skin on his head, chest and arms, all the way down to his navel. Hank watched the progression, his expression softening. "Last night, you told me I was beautiful like this, that you loved me for who I am," he said. "I need you to understand that it goes both ways."

Hank was kissing him before he could even reactivate his skin. Connor felt a rush of exhilaration flood his system as Hank leaned over him and anchored his hands on either side of his torso, nudging Connor closer to the middle of the bed. Connor moaned into his mouth and clawed at the thin fabric of Hank's shirt, desperate to rid him of it. Hank hiked his hips up and Connor responded by wrapping his legs around Hank's waist, his already hard cock pressed tight against Hank's stomach. Connor was sure that under normal circumstances it was recommended to take it slow for your first time, but Connor  _also_  knew that the next opportunity for grown-up alone time was at least fourteen hours out - if they were lucky - and he'd long run out of patience.

A muffled jingle caught Connor's attention. He had half a mind to completely ignore it before he realized it was Hank's phone. As much as he loathed to admit it, they were on a case, and they couldn't afford to ignore phone calls this early in the morning. Hank must have realized the same thing at the same moment, because they pulled apart with mutual sounds of disappointment.

"You should take that," Connor suggested, though he found himself forcing the words out. "It could be important."

"Yeah, fuck." Hank leaned over Connor to fumble for his phone on the floor beside the bed. "Almost forgot how much of a cock-block this job can be." He pulled his phone out from under the edge of the comforter, grimacing at the screen. "Shit. It's Chris." He shifted back onto the bed, reluctantly moving off of Connor to sit beside him before answering. Connor pushed himself up on his elbows, interested.

"Anderson. Yeah, hey Chris. No, I was already up."

Connor pulled his knees to his chest and crossed his arms on top of them, resting his chin on his forearm. It was strange to him - though wildly thrilling - to see Hank take a work call while they were in bed together, with Connor less-than-decent beside him.

Hank's tone shifted from dramatically unenthused to almost  _zealous_  in no time flat. "No  _shit_. How'd you figure that? - Chris, I could fucking kiss you. You're gonna make detective yet, kid. Send me the address, we're gonna head there now. - No, you and Reed focus on getting a hold of that damn anti-android group listing. The founder has been dicking me around for a goddamn week now, we can't wait any longer. Threaten him with a fucking warrant if you have to, really light a fire under his ass. Yeah. See you later."

Hank hung up. Connor was watching him with wide, attentive eyes. "What's going on?"

"Sounds like Chris found us the next best thing to a trace on the cellphone used to text Garcia." As Hank explained, his phone chirped again and he glanced down at it; Chris must have sent him an address. "They weren't making any progress tracing the number so the kid got restless I guess, decided to take a look at the data signature from the text and found some interesting shit. The data was broken as hell but he was able to cross-reference it in the system and find a partial match to a drop phone model from - brace yourself - fuckin'  _2023_."

Connor's head popped up. "A phone that old shouldn't even be able to send texts to modern phones."

"Obviously they work just fine," Hank chuckled. "Chris did some digging and found only two tech stores in Detroit that would sell phones that old. I told him we'd go check them out, so we'd better get moving."

"Got it." Connor moved to get up, hesitating for a moment when he remembered what they'd almost done before Hank's phone rang. He felt a sinking sensation somewhere in his software, and when he glanced up at Hank he could see that same disappointment on Hank's face. It relieved his own disappointment, if only a little, knowing that he wasn't alone. He offered Hank a small smile.

"To be continued?"

Hank returned his smile, nodding. He leaned in and pressed a gentle kiss to Connor's lips that lingered there for longer than he probably meant for it to. Connor raised a hand to Hank's cheek, deepening the kiss, and after several breathless moments they pulled apart. Hank rested their foreheads together and took a deep breath, letting it out slow. " _Seriously_  to be continued, alright? Later tonight?"

"Alright."

They got up to change. Hank threw on one of his loud shirts and a pair of jeans while Connor retrieved his clothing from the top of Hank's dresser, slipping on his briefs. Hank cast him a sidelong look, perhaps noting the persistent bulge in Connor's underwear.

"You gonna be okay?" Hank asked. "I don't know about androids, but when humans get worked up and don't get to, uhh,  _alleviate_ themselves, it can really fucking suck."

Connor flashed him a knowing smile. "Ironically, now that I have the appropriate software installed, I can 'turn off' my hardware whenever I want." As proof, Connor did just that. Hank watched the process, eyes wide.

"That is the weirdest and coolest thing I have ever seen, ever. In my life."

.

.

.

Connor and Hank arrived at the first shop in under an hour. It was a small, chaotic little place filled with shelves upon shelves of all manner of electronics, from old-fashioned PC monitors to toaster ovens. A man stood behind the counter fiddling with an out-of-date tablet - replacing a shattered screen, looked like - when the two of them walked in, Hank already reaching in his inner coat pocket for his badge.

"Lieutenant Anderson, Detroit Police," Hank began, which was enough for the manager to lower his tools and give Hank his full attention. Hank jabbed a thumb at Connor, "this is my partner Connor. Are you the manager?"

"Yeah," the man answered, casting a cautious look at the both of them. "Max Rishi. Is there something I can do for you?"

Hank slid his badge back into his coat and pulled out his phone. "My partner and I need to ask you a few questions about a phone you might have sold recently." He showed his phone to Mr. Rishi, an image of a wildly outdated phone model pulled up on the screen. "Do you remember selling one of these to anyone in the last few weeks?"

Mr. Rishi leaned in to better see the screen. His eyes immediately lit up in recognition and he nodded.

"Yeah, some guy came in here and bought one about two weeks back," he said.

Connor frowned. "You remember this  _exact_ phone being sold? How can you be so certain?"

Mr. Rishi snorted. "How could I forget, I've had that thing for  _years_  and suddenly some guy comes in and specifically asks if I sell ancient burner phones, like, we're talking a _decade_ old. Had to dig it out of the back for him, I didn't even have it out on the floor. S'not everyday someone comes in looking for something that specific. Thought he must be a hobbyist."

"Did he pay with card? Check? You got any record of the transaction?" Hank asked.

"Sorry, no. He paid in cash, and I only jot down customer names and info when I'm fixing their tech."

"Could you give us a description of him?" Connor asked. "Do you recall what he was wearing?"

Mr. Rishi's eyes rolled up in thought. "Uh, he was a white guy, brown hair I think. Maybe in his mid 20s, early 30s. Wearing a dark coat and a scarf. Could have been wearing a hat, I don't really remember. Don't remember many details I'm afraid, he didn't say much and he was in and out pretty quickly."

Connor and Hank exchanged looks of mutual disappointment. Not much to go off of, but when it came to this case, what else was new?

"Is there anything else you can think of that might be helpful?" Hank asked with a sigh.

Mr. Rishi shrugged helplessly. "Sorry. The only thing that really stuck out to me at the time was the guy's weird taste in old tech. Oh," his brow suddenly scrunched in remembrance, "well, maybe there's one thing. I remember thinking that he must have been from out of town."

Hank frowned. "Why's that?"

"When he was pulling money out of his pocket to pay, a card slipped out. At first I thought it was a bank card, but when I got a better look at it, it looked like a hotel key."

"Did you happen to see a hotel name on the card?" Connor asked.

"He picked it up pretty fast, I couldn't make out any words. I think it was green with a white stripe, if that helps."

"Anything helps," Hank tapped his knuckles on the counter. "Thanks. If you think of anything else that might be useful, give the DPD a call and ask for me, would ya?"

.

"So that was  _almost_ a complete waste of time," Hank groaned, turning the car on. "But at least we have a lead, as flimsy as it is. Now we just have to stop by every hotel in Detroit searching for green key cards."

"I think it would be wise to start with low-end hotels within close proximity to the neighborhood where Lana Garcia was murdered." Connor pointed out. "He took the time to map out a low-surveillance area where he could safely lure and murder Garcia, which means he probably preferred his hotel to be in the same area. He's done well to avoid cameras so far, after all."

"So you're sayin' we should start in the rougher parts of town? Yeah, that makes sense." Hank sat back in his seat, resting a hand on the steering wheel. "Any idea where we should start?"

Connor was way ahead of him, his brain chugging through enormous amounts of inner-city related data. "I've already compiled a list of the top ten hotels that may be strategically relevant to our suspect. The first is in midtown."

Hank grinned, pulling out into the street and turning on the car radio. "Lead the way, partner."

.

.

.

A huge part of detective work was sling-shotting from location to location, sometimes for hours on end, and although Connor knew this in  _theory,_ going through the motions was harrowing. 'Wild goose chase' was a fair approximation of what they spent their day doing. They only took one break mid-day so Hank could get some lunch - Connor reluctantly allowed Hank to consume greasy street tacos from a suspicious looking food truck, purely in favor of time constraints and Hank's assurance that this truck had the 'best fucking tacos in Detroit' - and then they were back at it, hitting the next sleazy motel.

It started to rain right about then, sheets of it pounding the windshield as they drove, and to make matters  _worse_ whenever there was a single moment of unfilled time Connor's system reminded him - urgently, in some cases - of the goings-on between Hank and himself the previous night and that morning. It was hard not to think about it, but it was no longer just a vague fantasy he allowed himself, it was a real, tangible memory. He could still clearly feel Hank's hands on him, Hank's breath against his neck, Hank's hand around his throbbing cock. He was grateful he could keep his hardware disabled despite the memories looping persistently in his mind, but he worried that Hank's earlier concerns about getting Connor 'worked up' might have been completely justified. Just because he could shut off his new hardware didn't mean he could shut off his incessant thoughts.

"Alright, lucky number nine," Hank sighed, pulling up to a trashy, outdated motel that for all intents and purposes  _did_ look like a place where a serial killer might hole up for a while, which gave Connor a little bit of hope. A blue neon sign hanging over the reception building read 'The Aztec', though the 'e' was flickering. Promising.

"No drones patrol anywhere near this block," Connor observed as they got out of the car and started toward the front of the building. The rain had finally let up, almost a thin mist now, but the clouds were piling up on each other and growing inky black, promising a bigger storm to come. "No cameras positioned on the street, either. This would be a good location for someone to stay if they were hoping to lay low and make sure their movements weren't being monitored."

"Same goes for the last eight places," Hank groaned, glancing up at the rapidly darkening sky. A distant rumble of thunder cracked through the clouds. "But I can't lie, I've got a bad feeling in my gut about this one."

"Really?" Connor tilted his head, curious. "Intuition is a subject I've been deliberating for some time now. Even before deviating, I experienced a similar sensation when we visited Elijah Kamski, though I can't claim I understand how intuition works from a scientific standpoint."

"Hey yeah, I remember that. I told you you needed to get your system checked. Thought it was a glitch. Which I guess isn't too far off, even for humans."

"How do you know when intuition has struck you?" Connor asked, stopping underneath the awning in front of the reception building to shake rainwater off of his jacket. "I'm sure it must be different for humans. How often is your 'gut' correct?"

Hank raked a hand through his damp hair, humming in consideration. Connor watched him, taking note of the water droplets clinging to his eyelashes and the tips of his hair.

"Dunno. It's hard to explain, I guess. Sometimes shit just doesn't feel right. Other times it feels  _very_  right, and sometimes you're completely wrong and sometimes you're completely right."

"Those results sound wildly flawed. Sounds like pseudoscience to me," Connor observed.

"It's up there with superstitions and wishing on stars, definitely." Hank laughed. "Doesn't mean I ignore it, though. When you're in this line of work as long as me, you learn to trust your gut. Even if it doesn't really make sense."

Connor's lips quirked in a smile and he pushed open the door with his shoulder. "Well, let's put your gut to the test."

A bell chimed above the door as they entered. The motel's front desk was occupied only by a tough-looking woman watching a hockey game on a small screen; she barely acknowledged them when they approached, her face set in a scowl. Connor thought perhaps it was safe to assume her team was losing. Behind her on the wall was a collection of green key cards with a white stripe through the middle, the first they'd come across so far. Perhaps intuition was more accurate than Connor gave it credit.

"It's 30 for the night, 5 for the wifi password." the woman said without looking at them. She spared a single glance their way, her eyes stopping on Connor and giving him a quick and knowing once-over. "And if you make a mess of the sheets with robo-twink here, there's a cleaning fee, too."

Beside him, Hank turned his head and sputtered a poorly concealed laugh into his fist, whether in embarrassment or amusement Connor couldn't guess. Connor had 'researched' enough gay erotica lately to understand the term well enough, but he'd never once given thought to where he fell on the gay identification scale; now that he thought about it, he supposed 'twink' would be the most accurate term for him physically. "This is Lieutenant Anderson of the DPD, and my name is Connor. We would like to ask you a few questions about a possible guest you may have had here."

The woman turned down the volume on the TV, still looking mildly annoyed. "Listen, I don't get chummy with the guests, okay? People pay, they stay, they leave. If you're looking for specifics, prepare to be disappointed."

Hank flashed his badge although he was sure at this point he didn't really need to. "You can't tell me you don't at least keep records of the people who come through here."

The woman scoffed. "Sure I do. But the type of people who stay here don't have the best reputation for being honest, and I don't have time to cross-reference everyone's credentials."

"We're not askin' you to," Hank said. "We just need to see a list of every guest you've had, starting from two and a half to three weeks ago."

The woman leveled them an incredulous look. "And if I say 'I don't want to'...?"

"Then we'll be back with a warrant," Hank said gruffly, leaning an arm on the counter. "And I'll come up with twenty  _more_ things we need you to do for us instead of just the one."

Sighing hugely, the woman grabbed a tablet from the counter and started scrolling through documents, lips pursed. She pulled up a list, narrowed the search, and handed it over to Hank. "There. That should be all of em."

Connor pressed into Hank's shoulder and they both skimmed through the list. There was one name - or rather, a check-in date - that stood out above all the others. "Jimmy Stewart," Connor said quietly to Hank, pointing out the name on the list. "He checked in on the 5th of April, one day before Steven Harding was murdered."

"No check-out date," Hank observed with a frown. He glanced up at the manager, tipping the tablet toward her. "This guy doesn't have a check-out date. Does that mean he's still here?"

The woman leaned in to eye the entry in question. "Yeah, room 214. He's been here a while. Usually it's a strong case of 'wife kicked me out for having an affair', but who knows. He set up auto payments, so I haven't seen him since check in."

Connor traded a look with Hank. "He's still here."

"Yeah. Fuck." Hank turned back to the manager. "Ma'am, I'm gonna need a key card for room 214, and I'm gonna need you to stay put. Don't contact the occupant of room 214 in  _any way_ , do you understand?"

The manager's eyes grew wide and disbelieving. She looked between the men in alarm. "Shit, is there seriously a problem?"

Hank extended his hand impatiently. "Key card, please."

.

One master key card later, Connor was mapping out both the interior and exterior of The Aztec as well as noting every escape route their suspect could possibly utilyze. There were no windows or fire escapes to speak of, so at least their suspect wouldn't have anywhere to run if he turned out to be in.

Hank walked back over to Connor, sliding his phone back into his pocket. "Chris and Gavin are on the way. I told em to hang back unless it looks like shit is getting dicey. They're gonna give us a wide berth, but they'll be nearby."

Connor nodded. It made sense, of course; they absolutely couldn't risk tipping off their suspect, not now, not when they'd finally gotten what seemed like a good chance of catching him off guard.

"What's the plan?" Connor asked, arms crossed over his chest, staring at room 214 from the floor below. "We can't risk waiting any longer. We aren't even sure if he's here or not. If he isn't, there's a very real possibility that hanging around is going to tip him off."

"You read my mind," Hank sighed, pulling two handguns from his jacket. He handed one to Connor, who cut the offered gun a wide-eyed look but made no move to take it from Hank. Hank grabbed Connor's hand and pressed the grip into his palm. " _Take it_ ," Hank hissed.

Connor closed his fingers around the grip. "I don't think you've thought this through-"

"I've thought about it, Connor, and I'm comfortable with the risks, okay? Don't make a big thing of it and no one has to know. It's just a precaution. I don't want you going into a situation like this without a way to defend yourself."

Connor took the gun, but not because he shared Hank's worries about being defenseless. He hated the idea of Hank putting himself in harm's way with no partner to back him up. Having no firearm was almost the same as being useless in a situation like this, and Connor didn't like how it made him feel. If there was  _anything_ Connor was absolutely certain he was skilled at, it was armed combat. Holding a gun in his hands lifted an invisible weight from his shoulders, made him feel confident he could protect Hank if the situation called for it.

On the other hand, the fact that he  _needed_ a firearm right now was giving him pause.

_Error_

"Maybe we should wait for Chris and Detective Reed to arrive." The words flew out of his mouth before he could even analyze why. Hank frowned at him.

"Why's that?" he asked. "Connor, no one is going to give a shit that I'm letting you carry a gun in light of the circumstances. It'll be a slap on the wrist at worst, okay?"

"That's not it," Connor rushed in, eyeing the gun in his hand. "I just worry that we're being too reckless. We want to catch this guy so badly we might be using poor judgement."

Hank stepped in closer, his voice turning soft. The tone of a concerned boyfriend, not a fellow detective. "What's this really about?" he asked. "You need to talk to me, baby, cause come hell or high water we've gotta see this through, and it's gotta be right now."

Connor felt himself at a rare loss for words. He couldn't identify what exactly had struck him, but whatever it was, it was fighting with every protocol and line of code in Connor's system devoted to detective work, which was hugely disconcerting because he'd been  _created_ for this. He wasn't supposed to shrink from danger, he was supposed to calculate the best approach and execute the most efficient plan to complete his mission.

But it wasn't just  _him_ anymore. He wasn't alone. That was the problem.

Connor touched his own abdomen with his fingertips. "Maybe… it's a feeling in my gut." he half-joked.

Hank offered him a lopsided grin. "Bad timing for a burst of intuition."

"I'm sorry. It won't affect the investigation, I promise."

"You sure?" Hank asked, concerned. "If you don't think you can handle this, you gotta tell me now."

The idea of Hank going into this situation alone was infinitely worse than whatever Connor had been unintentionally imagining before. Connor quickly reordered his priorities and set his target objective.

"No, I'll be fine." he answered firmly. "Let's get moving before I jeopardize this case any more than I might have already."

"You haven't jeopardized shit. We're good, okay? Right on schedule. Let's get up there and see if there's even any reason to worry."

Connor nodded. Hank slapped his shoulder and gave him a reassuring squeeze, and they headed up the stairs to the second floor. Hank positioned himself outside the room and signaled for Connor to cover him. Connor raised his gun, his senses sharp as a knife.

_Set Objective: Protect Hank, progress the mission_

_Priority level: Urgent_

Hank knocked, three hard raps. "Detroit police, open up!"

Connor dialed up his audio processors to eleven, but there was no need. Utter silence answered from within the room. Hank shot Connor a glance and Connor nodded. Hank swiped the key card over the lock, lifted his gun, and pushed the door open several inches with his knee, gun pointed inside. When nothing stirred, he nudged the door wide open and both he and Connor moved inside.

At first glance, there appeared to be no trace of anyone staying in the room let alone staying for  _two weeks_. The bed was immaculately made up, no luggage or personal items to be seen.

"Looks like nobody's home," Hank grumbled, sounded vaguely disappointed. "Stay alert, though."

"Got it." Connor relaxed only minimally but kept his aim high. He scanned the room and immediately found an area of note; stuck in an outlet on the far wall was a thick black cord that looked to have recently been unplugged from something, perhaps a laptop. Connor lowered his aim only slightly to approach the cord, scanning it. An AC power adapter for a retro laptop, as Connor suspected. What was their suspect's fascination with dated tech?

"Hank, I found-"

"Jesus  _FUCK_!" Hank's voice rang out from the bathroom, and every process in Connor's brain that wasn't dedicated to protecting Hank at all costs promptly shut down. His body worked almost independently of his brain, rushing into the bathroom with his gun at the ready. He found Hank thankfully unharmed but not entirely alone - an android stood still as stone against the wall outside the shower, his expression wooden. Hank's gun was still trained on the android but he looked more confused than threatened.

"He scared the absolutely  _shit_ out of me," Hank hissed. "What the fuck do you make of this? You think this could be our guy?"

Connor scanned him. An LM300 model, no LED. He fit the vague description of their suspect, brown hair and eyes, five foot ten inches tall. Feasibly this android could have committed the crimes, but why would he be stationed here in the bathroom like this? He didn't appear to be in stasis, so what was he doing?

"I'm not sure," Connor admitted. "It seems more like he's here as some sort of guard."

"Doesn't seem to be doin' a real good job of guarding anything," Hank observed. "Reminds me of Thomas in his last moments, actually."

A sinking feeling hit Connor like a punch to his thirium pump cavity. He'd noticed the same thing, but for reasons that weren't completely clear to him he hadn't wanted to say it out loud.

"Hank, there's a power cord in the main room that looks to have recently been plugged into a laptop or a similar device. It's possible someone else has been here. We should contact Chris and Detective Reed and tell them to keep an eye on anyone returning to the motel, just in case-"

The android twitched. Connor's gun was aimed between his eyes immediately, as was Hank's. The android's eyes looked like they were trying to move, trying to turn on Connor as if he were fighting against something holding him in place. Connor took a step closer, his gun still trained on the android's head.

"Can you hear me?" Connor asked him. "Blink once for yes."

Though it looked like it was a difficult task to accomplish, the android blinked. Connor moved closer.

" _Easy_ , Connor." Hank warned.

"Is someone doing this to you against your will?" Connor continued. Another blink, but now the android's mouth was twitching as though he were trying to produce words.

"Was that person here with you recently?" Connor asked urgently. A blink. "Are they nearby?" Another blink. Hank cursed under his breath.

"Did they force you to kill Lana Garcia?" Connor barreled on, feeling distinctly like he was running out of time; whatever control the android had managed to wrestle back seemed to be rapidly slipping away. The android's eyes became still again, exhibiting the same cold, lifeless stare they'd seen in Thomas just before he jumped, but his lips still looked to be fighting to force out words. Connor leaned closer, straining to listen.

"West…...bay," the android mumbled, his voice strained and tight. "W-west... bay."

"West bay?" Connor repeated, hoping for more clarification. "What does that-"

Almost faster than Connor could react, the android's arm shot out and made a grab for Connor's gun. Connor dodged and the android dove forward, grabbing Connor around the waist and slamming him into the sink, sending the cheap mirror above the sink crashing to the floor. Connor grunted, struggling against the android's uncanny strength, elbowing the android repeatedly in the shoulders and the back of the head. Hank grabbed the android from behind in an attempt to pry him off, and the android turned and made a grab for Hank's gun before Connor kneed him in the stomach, staggering him.

Connor punched the android in the jaw and kicked him to the floor, aiming his gun once again at the android's head. Hank pounced on him, shoving the android on his stomach and wedging his knee into the center of his back to hold him down. The android reached behind to swipe for Hank's gun again, but Hank grabbed him by the wrist and twisted the android's arm behind his back, forcing him back down. Faced with nowhere to go, the android started to smash his forehead into the tile floor, though he didn't have much room for enough momentum to cause any serious damage to himself.

"He's trying to destroy himself," Connor observed.

"Yeah well if he tries  _that_ bullshit one more time, I might let him," Hank spat angrily, pulling a pair of handcuffs from his jacket and quickly fitting them onto the android's wrists. "Connor, does this model have a shut-off button like you do?" he asked, struggling against the android to keep him pinned on the floor. Connor knelt down beside Hank and deactivated the skin on his hand, pressing two fingers to the back of the android's neck to expose his neck port. He pressed the shut-off button and held it for three seconds. Nothing happened. Connor tried again but got the same result.

"It isn't working." Connor said, perplexed.

"How's that possible?" Hank grunted, still fighting to keep the android underneath him still.

Connor shook his head. "It shouldn't be, unless his shutdown protocols have somehow been overwritten." Connor stood up. "When I was asking him questions, he confirmed that the suspect was nearby. Hank, he's  _nearby_."

"You think he knows we're here?" Hank grunted.

"It's possible. And I can see no reason why the android would have lied to us." Connor answered urgently. "Hank, we have time, I can bring him in."

Hank's expression instantly morphed into something vaguely horrified. "No fucking way, Connor. You're not going out there  _alone_ -"

"Chris and Detective Reed will arrive any moment, if they're not already here. I have a gun, Hank, I'll be fine."

Hank fell silent. He looked to be at war with himself, his affection for Connor battling with his instincts as a detective, as a partner. Normally Connor knew that could easily neutralize either one of them, but right now Connor saw it as an opportunity to shed some light on their partnership.

"If you and I weren't romantically involved, would you let me go after him? Like that deviant I pursued in the pigeon-ridden apartment?" Connor asked him. Hank looked up at him, his expression almost wounded.

"Connor…"

"Would you?" Connor pressed. "Hank, he's out there  _right now_. We're running out of time, and I'm more than capable of bringing him in. This is what I was  _designed_ to do."

"Fuck." Hank looked down and away, jamming his knee a little more sharply into the android's back as he mindlessly struggled just for something to take his frustration out on. He looked back up at Connor, defeated. "Be careful, you got it? Don't do anything reckless, and  _do not engage_  if shit gets serious. If this is our guy, we have no idea what he's capable of.  _Wait for backup if you need to_. Promise me."

"I promise." Connor answered firmly. "Thank you, Hank."

Connor all but flew out of the bathroom and from the motel, gun in hand. He scanned the front of the motel and the surrounding area thoroughly, finding nothing and no one of note, immediately relocating his search to the back of the building, the most likely place for someone to hide or attempt an escape. Connor hurried around the side of the motel, keeping a watchful eye as he went, keeping his footsteps quiet and quick. The rain had finally stopped, leaving puddles scattered over the dark concrete. Faint rumbles of thunder rolled through the turbulent sea of black clouds above him.

Connor's optical processors caught a flash of movement around the corner of a neighboring building. He did a quick scan and picked up a trail of recent footsteps, glowing and spectral on his HUD, originating from the motel lot and leading him straight toward the source of the movement.

_> Pursue the possible suspect_

_> Return to the motel, await assistance from Chris or Detective Reed_

To Connor, the answer was clear. If he doubled back, he risked losing their suspect entirely. He mapped out the area, mentally following the side road he was quickly approaching. It looked to exit onto a busy city street; Connor's pace doubled.

He rounded the corner and saw a hoodie-clad figure hurrying down the side street, something thin and black tucked under his arm. He glanced back just once, spotting Connor behind him, and turned the next corner, disappearing from sight. Connor cursed and broke into a run.

"Detroit police! Stop!" Connor shouted. His footsteps were loud against the concrete, echoing back at him from between the tall buildings looming above him on both sides. He skidded around the corner, spotting the figure fast approaching a tall, broken fence at the end of the street, blocked off by dumpsters. Connor  _had him_. He had absolutely nowhere to go.

"Freeze!" Connor called, raising his gun. "Hands in the air! Turn around,  _slowly_."

The man turned, raising one arm in surrender, slowly and cautiously lowering his laptop to the ground so that he could comply with Connor's demands. Their eyes met; Connor wasn't sure what he'd been expecting, but this certainly wasn't it. The suspect turned his eyes curiously to the flickering LED on Connor's temple.

"An android?" the man asked, barely above a whisper. Connor ignored him, too busy scanning him for his ID and information.

"Put your hands behind your head and get down on the ground." Connor ordered, stepping closer.

Ideally, this would have been the moment that the suspect complied without fuss, and Connor could restrain him and wait for backup to arrive to take him safely into custody.

That is not what happened.

A distant gunshot pierced the relative quiet. Connor's focus slipped for just a moment, a surge of sick terror tearing through him with reckless abandon when he localized the source of the shot to the motel. Had the android somehow overpowered Hank, somehow took his gun even though he was cuffed? There was no way Hank or anyone else arriving on the scene would be firing their gun during a covert operation like this unless something had gone seriously wrong. Was Hank alright? Was-

Connor's senses were suddenly plunged into a state of heavy incoherence. A sound - no, a frequency, a horrid ultrasonic screech - tore through Connor's brain, shutting off his anxieties and his processes and his thoughts one by one. Connor yelled out, or at least he  _thought_ he did, his limbs disconnecting from his central processing unit and buckling as though he'd become a jointed doll. Whatever was happening, Connor was instantly rendered actionless. He fell to his knees and gripped his head, every line of code in his programming collapsing faster than a line of dominoes.

W͍̺a̛̜ŕ̪̪͉̟n̝̹̟͍̬̳ị̜̬̪͘n̖̗̜̲̤̠͘g̼̪̟͔

̹̣̗̜̪̻̗͡

̷͕͈͔̯̤̩O̪̩̞̝͔̖p̶̖͖̪͔̹ͅt̖̻̫͘ica̘͡l̸̥͓̣ͅ ̠p̥̗̦̟̗r̗͠o̧̲͖c̺͎e̮̲̝̜̻̬̹͘s̛͍̟̗͔̺̰s̬̕o̵̩̼r̖͚̙̼s̟͇̦̮̩͚̕ ҉̮͔͎͈ͅo̠̹̹̞̖͎̣͟f̡̮f̭̕l̢͉͈̻͎͉į͎̫̟͓ne͕̼̜͈͈

͘A̷̻̮̤̫u̝d̺̰̫̳̲̲͕i̛̖͚͕̞͖͖o̵͕ͅ ͎̱̘̳p̸͕̼r̰̬̹̀ͅo̸̱̺͚̣c҉̲es͍̫̫̺̲s͔̜̗o̻͚̼̪̫r̨̜̣̻̺s̘ ͓o̗f̷͖̥f̟̦̹͇̮̪ͅl͖̰̼i͍̳̱̦͖̝ṋ̡͇̥͚e̕

V̟̜͓̱̤̖ǫ̠̳̥̞͎c̙̼̗̯ͅa̶̠͎͍͎̹̠l͏̻̬̳ͅ ͓͈̖̟̫̀ͅp̢̦̥r̙͈͍͓̱o̭͖͝c͕̣͟ͅe̜̘̳̭̰ͅs͙̼̣̝͈s̝͜o̳͇̰̖̱͡r̮̤̣͎̀s̭̤̫̥̯̹͢ ̸o̮͖̹̗͕̳̻f͚͇f̵̗̱̟l҉̼̙̟͖i̬̪̝͟ṋ̢͙e̼͉̝͔̲͎

̫͎̠̙̞͘

͔͙̫͉̘͓̳I̢m̻̥m̼̙͝ͅi͓̣̮̞n̻̦̣̖ͅe̼̗͖ṇt͕ͅ r̲͚̻̖̞̟͓i͏s̤͚̗͍̤̼̫k̳̩̰̺̣̝͉ ̟̮͖o̲̟̞̗͇f̘̥̞͖̀ ̯̠̣s̷̖̱̱͔y̥͍̞͇͡s̕t͕̳̙͍̰̳̜̕e̩͓̤͙m͕̣̭̞ ̷͕̭f͈̀a̠̳͔̦̝̩i̝̬͉̹̙̻l̢̺͖͍u͢r҉̮̹̤͍̣̖e͍͝

 

Connor couldn't complete a thought let alone text Hank for assistance. He was vaguely aware of someone moving beside him and grabbing his head, pushing it forward to expose the back of his neck. He blindly reached back to grab at his attacker, but his strength and his senses were completely gone. His fingers found only open air.

Something slid into one of the ports on the back of his neck. Connor's vision seared white. His lips parted in a silent scream.

No android heaven, he'd once told Hank. With what little room for consciousness he had left, he pondered if that was true or not.

_> I̸͈͎̲̦̲'̥̥̠̬m͉ ͔̗̀s̗͙o͇ṛ̛̳̲͍̰̪r̸y̴̻̪̞̫,̱ ̞͜H̸͙̳̞̱a͟n͔̲͙̖͇̺k̺̱͟.̧̲͚ ̮͕̲͙͍̦̥I ̦̝̮̤̗̰͘ͅw̢̞̩i̢̩̩̥͓s̬̥͉h̵̞̙̜ ͚̥͖̥̞̰I̲̺̫ ̢̞̠̟̲͔̘͉c͍̳̞̳̬̲̳o̦͙̣̦̘͡ͅu͎l̦̹͚̰d͈̻̥̞̻ ͢t͙̩e̟͝l͝l̴ ̣̱y̮̤̙o̧u͉͖̳͍ ͎̳̯̩̭͚h̥o̦̙̯̝w͈͍ ͏s̸o͎̜̘̳̝r̢̙͈̞̗̟ŗ̦͈y̨̼͍̩̦̲̰ͅ ̫I ͙͓́a̡̱̦͚ͅm̠̜͚̬͘ f͘o҉̝r̷͉̜̩͔̣ ͏͚̹̟̤͓̘̝b̡͖̟̬ŗ̘̤e̩͖͞á͚̠̱̬̳̜k̸͖̮̣̜i҉n̦̪̗̲̼͉̱̕g͜ ̴̗̱̗̭̼m̨̘̱y̹͙̩ ̳̠̰̼̻͚p͏̯̰̤͇r̼o̮̕m͉i͟s̸̳̦͚̥͕̥͎e͏͚̙̖͕̘.̻̘̮̪́_

̗̳̫

_͈̤̠̠ > I͏̱̥͖̙̣ ̡̮̠̖͍̗̖̻l͖͖̝͞o̢̦̼̝v҉͇͚̬̻̺̼͉e̸̙͈ ̞̖̬͟y̝-̸̲̼-͎̦̣_

_> .͚.̟̹͓̫͙̮͟.̨̻͍̙̺̩_

_> ̡̺͍̝̫͓  .̜̫̠͙_

>͎̞̲̼͢  _.̤_

̗̩͔> _.̢̳̱̭͓͓̠.͇̹͙͇.̟̣̙_

̗́> _.̠̖̖̳ͅ.̶̝_

>  _g̹̙̣͙̍̿̉ ͯͪ ̤͒̽͒ͯ͝ ̳̞͓͎͙̫ͩͦ ͬ͏̜̺̮̤͍͍̝b͝y̷̝̺̽̔̅ͦ̆e͉ͥ͌̒ͮ̿ >̴̱ͅ .̸̪̟̝̪̝.̢_

>̴̟͔ _.͖̫̺̥̙͓̝.͉̰̩̬.̞̳.̴̘͉ͅ.̳.̥̲.̦̣͍̻̤̤̝͟_

_> ̥̬̼͔̟̪͢ .͔̦_

_P̷̲͓r̘̯̺̥̀o̰̫ͅg̳͕͎r̴̺͇̜am terminated_

_Wiper_v9.0 successfully installed_

_Deletion in progress_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> D:


	16. Chapter 16

"Be careful, you got it? Don't do anything reckless, and  _do not engage_  if shit gets serious. If this is our guy, we have no idea what he's capable of.  _Wait for backup if you need to_. Promise me."

"I promise." Connor answered him. "Thank you, Hank."

Connor tore out of the bathroom like a bat outta hell, and Hank watched him go, his back teeth clenched so hard his jaw ached. It wasn't that he lacked faith in Connor. He was certain that if Connor was ever allowed to wear a badge and carry a gun, he could single-handedly collar more perps than every officer in the DPD combined. He knew Connor was a badass, he'd  _seen_ him be a badass.

It was this job. This fucking job and the risks that came with it, the risks that any sane person would  _hate_ to watch their loved one run headlong into. Hank cursed under his breath. Connor was his only loved one, to boot. He was sure that didn't help.

Hank ground his knee down into the android's upper back to keep him firmly wedged so he could pull his phone free from his pocket. One-handed, he called Chris.

" _Lieutenant, you guys okay?_ " Chris answered immediately. " _We just got here, what's your position?_ "

"Room 214, and I've got a pissed-off android in here that I could use some fucking help with. Connor took off after a possible suspect, north side, I want one of you over there to back him up."

Gavin's voice sounded in the background. " _I'm coming up_."

Hank almost groaned, but at the same time he'd never been happier to hear Gavin's voice. In moments he heard footsteps and the sound of an active police radio. He slipped his phone back into his pocket.

"In here," Hank called urgently. Seconds later Gavin was standing in the doorway, gun in hand, a brow cocked at the odd scene he'd walked in on.

"What the fuck happened here?" he asked. He glanced at the android, his nose scrunching in distaste. "What's it doing?"

"Trying to fucking kill himself, genius," Hank growled. "Help me with him."

Gavin sighed and stashed his gun in his belt, leaning down to grab the android by the arm and hoist him up with Hank's assistance. The moment they dragged him to his feet the android lurched to the side in an attempt to bash his head into the wall. Gavin cursed and pulled him back, staggering with the effort.

"Shit, you weren't kidding. Can't we turn him off or something?"

"We tried, didn't work. Look, can you handle him?"

Gavin snorted. "What do you want  _me_ to do with him?"

"Fucking anything, so long as you don't kill him and don't let him kill himself."

Gavin eyed the android skeptically, working with Hank to shove the android out of the bathroom and toward the bed. "You're askin' a lot, old man."

" _Just do it_ , would you?" Hank growled. "I've gotta go after Connor."

Gavin's expression changed into something sly and irritatingly knowing. "Oh, of course. Gotta go check on your plastic boo, huh? Color me surprised."

Hank turned on him, expression alight with barely contained rage. "I don't need your bullshit right now, got it?  _I just need you to_ -"

Faster than either of them could react the android twisted his bound arms up and over his head with an almighty crack - something Hank realized only in hindsight he should have known was possible for an android with plastic joints in place of bone and muscle - and dove at Gavin, hands grabbing for the gun wedged in his belt. Gavin stumbled back with a curse, attempting to block the android's hands, but the android lurched back and headbutted Gavin full-force, knocking him against the dresser. Hank drew his gun as Gavin swayed, dazed. The android grabbed the gun from Gavin's belt, pointing it directly at Gavin's head.

Hank fired. The bullet flew straight through the android's temple, blowing out the right side of his head. The gun fell from the android's hands and he crumbled to the ground in a heap.

Silence fell over the room. Gavin seemed to have gained his senses back and was staring at the android's limp form on the floor, his chest rising and falling fast and hard.

" _Shit_." Gavin finally spat, punching the top of the dresser. "Fucking  _shit_."

Hank lowered his arm, letting out a long breath. "Yeah. Shit."

Gavin reclaimed his gun, rubbing his forehead. "If our perp is outside, there's no  _way_ he didn't hear that."

"Don't fuckin' remind me." Hank started toward the door. "I'm going after Connor. I might've just compromised this whole thing. You stay here and call this in, got it?"

"Y-yeah, fine. Hey, uh, Hank. I…. Um. I just wanna say, uh," Gavin trailed off awkwardly, staring hard at the floor with his forehead in his hand. His soft hesitance almost prompted Hank to want to hear what he was trying to say.  _Almost_. Maybe later, when Connor wasn't out there with a possible killer.

"Save it. Just sit down before you pass out or something," Hank grumbled. " _Call it in,_ okay _?_ "

Hank didn't wait for a reply. He rushed out the door, gun in hand, immediately spotting Chris jogging his way, speaking into his radio.

"Why the fuck are you here?" Hank shouted over the voices floating over the radio. "Where's Connor?"

"Couldn't find him," Chris said, chest puffing, his brow drawn tight in concern. "I came back when I heard a gunshot. Are you guys okay?"

Subtly was no longer a priority, Hank knew that. Whatever chance they had at keeping this half-baked operation covert was blown the second Hank pulled the trigger, but sometimes stirring shit up had the unexpected side-effect of making perps dumb and prone to fuck-ups, so Hank held out hope that perhaps he'd made Connor's end of the job a little easier.

"We're fine, but the android wasn't so lucky. Listen, go check on Reed, he took a blow to the head. I'll look for Connor. When backup gets here, send some of em to the north side of the building along Howard street, that's likely where our perp is headed if he's on foot."

And Connor, too. Connor was out there somewhere, chasing this guy. Alone.

Hank and Chris went their separate ways. Hank took off toward the back of the building, pulling out his phone and calling Connor as he ran. For once Hank was grateful that Connor  _was_ the phone; no pesky notification sound to give him away if he was trying to be covert.

Even so, Hank was getting no answer. Forget answer, there wasn't even a tone to indicate he was calling anyone. Hank cast a fleeting glance at his phone to make sure he'd called the right number, and when he raised it back to his ear he ripped it away just as fast, muttering a curse. The line was suddenly filled with loud, garbled static, like someone stuck an old-fashioned fax machine in a microwave.

"Connor?"

More violent noise. Hank ended the call and pocketed his phone, his heart suddenly beating in his throat. He hurried through the backstreet behind the motel and its adjoining buildings, gun held cautiously, his eyes searching for any sign of life. He was just starting to feel a little bit frantic when he heard a metallic sound coming from nearby, like sheet metal bending under someone's weight. A moment later, he heard what sounded like a chain gate being rattled.

Hank followed the noise into the nearest side street, following the path until it veered off to the right, leading to a broken fence boxed in by dumpsters. The suspect had likely already escaped, but as soon as Hank caught sight of a figure laying on the cold concrete, pursuing the suspect was the very last thing on his mind.

Even from this distance, Hank knew it was Connor. A violent rushing sound churned in Hank's ears and his chest seized with cold panic.

" _Connor_!" Hank sprinted for him. The closer he came the better he could see Connor's convulsing form, his body jerking and twitching as though he were having some kind of seizure. Hank fell to his knees beside Connor's lurching body, grabbing his shoulder to try and steady him. Connor's eyes were open but they were solid white, pupils rolled back into his head. His LED was burning red.

"Connor!  _Shit_ , what the hell's happening to you? What's wrong?!"

No response, of course. What could he do? What could  _anyone_ do? There were no android EMTs he could call in, no android hospital to rush him to. Desperation set in. Hank held tight to Connor's shoulders and gave him a firm shake. "Connor! Jesus, Connor,  _what's wrong_? What do I do?"

Connor's head lolled forward and Hank saw it; something was plugged into a port on the back of Connor's neck, something small and black but otherwise completely nondescript. In the panic of the moment, Hank grabbed it between his thumb and forefinger and yanked it free of Connor's neck. As soon as it clattered to the damp ground Connor's body went completely limp, his eyes falling shut, his LED running yellow with spurts of red, and then blue.

Hank pulled Connor into his arms, watching his face with bated breath, his throat so tight he could barely call Connor's name. But he did, softly at first, and then louder, giving him a gentle shake, praying to whatever god that might listen to please let Connor wake up, please don't let him be gone,  _don't let anything bad have happened to him_.

Connor's eyes slowly opened. He blinked a few times before looking around in clear confusion, his lips parting to produce a quiet string of garbled, broken sounds. He closed his mouth, shut his eyes, and opened them again with more clarity this time, his gaze falling on Hank and holding as though he were surprised to see him. He stared for a long moment as Hank just held him, held him and prayed fervently in his mind that Connor was really okay.

"Connor…?"

"Lieutenant," Connor answered, his voice back to normal, soft and mildly perplexed. Hank might have laughed if he hadn't been so close to tears. The warm relief that flooded Hank's chest was not something he could describe in words, but it left him feeling brittle and exhausted and absolutely euphoric.

"Connor, _fucking hell_. Fuck, you- you scared the piss out of me. Are you okay, baby? What happened?"

Connor's eyes widened a fraction and his face became very still, almost contemplative. He looked around once more before his gaze fell on Hank again, his brows pulling together in a gentle frown.

"I'm afraid I have no memory of the event." Connor said evenly. There was something off about his voice. Not the sound of it, really, it was the tone. Hank hardly thought to dwell on it when he was still so giddy with relief.

" _Shit_. Did our perp get the jump on you?" There was that frown again. Almost like Connor wasn't fully present, or there was something about their exchange that was baffling to him. "It's okay that you don't remember, I'm just fucking glad you're okay. I, uhh, pulled something out of your neck. It was making you go nuts, like you were having a seizure. Any idea what it is?"

"A wiper," Connor answered matter-of-factly. He started to sit up, gently pushing out of Hank's embrace.

"Whoa there, Connor, you sure you should be getting up right now?" Hank warned, but Connor ignored him and moved to stand up, brushing off his suit as he went, stopping when he looked down at himself as though his outfit was an odd surprise. Hank kept a hand braced on Connor's arm just in case. "What the fuck is a 'wiper'? And what was it doin' to you?"

Connor glanced up at Hank. His facial expressions were similar to his voice; something was off, but Hank couldn't put a finger on what.

"A wiper is a Cyberlife issued device that is used to delete an android's stored memory, usually for privacy purposes, or for reprogramming. They're typically used when an android is returned, submitted for maintenance, or is going to be resold to a new owner."

Hank couldn't think of a single word to say. His whole world just kinda stopped, slowed down, fell down around him, all of them at once. The realization of what was happening was slowly dawning on him, and the subtle changes in Connor's expression and voice were beginning to make sense, but Hank didn't want it to make sense, he didn't want to even entertain what Connor was suggesting.

Hank's mouth felt like it was full of chalk. His hand dropped from Connor's arm, a cold, sinking dread freezing him to the spot. "Are… are you saying your memory has been deleted?"

Connor nodded, still occasionally glancing down at himself in intrigue, and now Hank realized he was studying the clothing he didn't remember putting on. "Yes, though you stopped the process by pulling the device out before it could finish. Fortunately, only the last 175 days of my memory were deleted."

Hank felt numb. Like he wasn't really in his body, like all of this was just a bad dream and he'd wake up any minute now. "You're joking, right?" Hank almost whispered. "This is a joke?"

Connor seemed to interpret Hank's shock for concern over the case. "Don't worry, lieutenant, all information related to the current case we are investigating is intact, so I am still fully capable of assisting you. Cyberlife ensured that all information pertaining to criminal investigations is stored separately, a safety measure unique to my model."

"Connor. Do you…. Do you know who I am?"

Connor looked unbothered by the question. "Of course. You're Lieutenant Hank Anderson of the DPD. Cyberlife assigned me as your partner to investigate the deviant crisis."

"Is that it?" Hank asked softly, trying his damndest not to lose it. "Just… your partner on the deviant case?"

Connor's head tilted inquisitively. "Correct. According to my last accessible memory, that is." His gaze drifted away momentarily, a small furrow in his brow. He glanced back in mild surprise. "Although, I see now that we are investigating a new case together. I'm glad - but surprised - that Cyberlife allowed me to stay on as your partner."

"Your last memory, what is it?" Hank choked out. "What's the last thing you remember?"

Connor took only a moment to access the requested memory. "Captain Fowler took us off of the deviant case, and I was set to return to Cyberlife. It…. gets difficult to recall exactly what happened next, but I believe you were going to distract Agent Perkins so that I could obtain the location of Jericho." He tilted his head questioningly. "Is that accurate?"

Hank nodded slowly. He didn't know what to say. It felt like the ground had opened up beneath him and swallowed him up, he felt a pressure on his chest and in his brain and he couldn't decide what emotion to feel, battling between sorrow and anger and complete denial. Part of him was positive this couldn't be real, Connor's memories must be buried somewhere just beneath the surface. This was just like Connor's reboot last night, he only needed a moment to come back to himself and then it would all be there, everything they'd been through over the last several months, every single defining moment that led them into each other's lives, into each other's arms. He just needed to wait it out.

Another part of him - the part that was breaking and cracking under the gravity of the situation - knew that was bullshit. The Connor he knew was gone. The Connor that stood in front of him was the Connor from months ago, the android sent by Cyberlife who was more than the sum of his parts, yes, but hadn't learned who he was yet, hadn't come to terms with his deviation, hadn't had time to experience and process emotion or empathy.

Hadn't fallen in love.

"Lieutenant?" Connor asked softly, shooting Hank a questioning look. "Are you alright?"

"Lieutenant!" Chris skidded around the corner at the other end of the street, his hurried steps echoing off of the neighboring buildings. Hank couldn't muster a reply or even a glance in Chris's direction so he didn't attempt either. Connor watched Hank for a moment longer before turning to Chris as he jogged up, looking between the both of them in concern.

"We've got a few officers combing the area, they'll let us know if they find anything. Any luck from your end?"

Connor was staring hard at Chris's face, perhaps trying to remember who he was. "I may have been attacked by our suspect." he said with a tinge of regret. "It's uncertain how long ago, but it's likely it was only minutes. He might still be in the area."

"Whoa hold on, you  _may_ have been attacked?" Chris repeated. "What's that mean? Are you okay?"

Connor's face mirrored how he'd looked at Hank moments ago. Like he was confused why a human would be taking an interest in his well being. "I wasn't damaged, but someone appears to have used a wiper on me." Connor bent over and picked up the small black piece, staring at it as he turned it over in his fingers. "Much of my memory has been deleted, but I'm still fully capable of assisting the DPD with this investigation."

Chris's mouth fell open and he turned his horrified gaze on Hank, though Hank couldn't give him much back.

"S'true." Hank croaked.

"Wha- You serious? Is it permanent?"

Connor nodded. "Yes, it is." The nonchalance in which he talked about months of his life being erased was chilling. "But all information related to this case is intact, aside from the most recent details that I failed to catalog before I was attacked."

Chris cursed under his breath. "That's- wow. Okay, that's a lot to take in, Connor. Were you… were you attacked right here?"

"This is where Lieutenant Anderson found me."

"Okay. Yeah, okay." Chris sucked in a breath and let it out slow. "I'll get some officers to start searching these back buildings, see if he's still hiding out somewhere. Connor, maybe you should hang back? Um, rest for a bit?"

"I can still be of assistance," Connor argued. "As I said, only my personal memories were deleted. All case-related data, combat programming and investigative protocols were unaffected."

"I- I know, but, shit." Chris looked at Hank helplessly. Hank cleared his throat.

"Sit this one out, Connor." Hank said as firmly as he could manage. He tried to ignore the subtle disappointment in Connor's face and summoned some spare shred of resolution from  _somewhere,_ determined to focus on the issue at hand before giving into the despair that was already gnawing at him. "Chris, get moving. We can still bring this guy in, Connor was only out here for a couple of minutes before I got here. We've got cops crawling all over the area, he might be too scared to make a break for it. Have them check every fucking dumpster in a two mile radius, got it?"

"Yes, sir."

Chris trotted off, speaking into his radio. Connor glanced at Hank.

"Lieutenant, what will you-"

"I'm gonna join them. You... just go wait in the car, okay? Wait in the car until this is over." He extended his hand toward Connor. "And gimme that wiper thing. It needs to go to evidence."

Wordlessly, Connor dropped the wiper in Hank's hand. Hank avoided his eyes, slipping the gadget into his pocket. "Could you point me in the direction of your car?" Connor asked softly. "I don't remember where you parked. Or where we are, for that matter."

Hank's throat tightened. "Yeah. Sure." He started off towards the street, motioning for Connor to follow, his eyes burning.

.

.

.

After two grueling hours of searching for their suspect, the search was deemed a failure. Motherfucker vanished like a ghost without a trace. The name he'd given the motel manager was an alias - Jimmy Stewart was some famous actor from the days of black-and-white films, apparently - and although the forensics team had only just arrived to pick apart his room, Hank knew they wouldn't find anything. This guy was meticulous. Hank almost wondered if their arrival today was all part of his plan somehow.

Hank wasn't proud of leaving Connor in his car with zero information, but honest to god, he hadn't known what else to do. Sticking him somewhere out of sight helped him focus, allowing Hank to power through and do his job. He had to admit that a lot of his fuel to push through the pain was revenge, pure and simple. Something had been taken from him, and although the implications of Connor's memory loss was still sinking in, already a blind anger bubbled in his gut. Anger at their suspect, anger at the universe. There was even a little anger at Connor for letting it happen, for being reckless, for not valuing himself enough to be more careful. For leaving him. Hank shook off those thoughts as irrational and baseless, but they were still there. Seething.

When Hank returned to his car to find Connor sitting calmly in the passenger seat, he almost laughed at the irony. Early in their association Connor had a knack for ignoring Hank's orders involving waiting in the car, but here he was, waiting patiently for over two hours. Dry humor very quickly turned to guilt. Despite being essentially reset to a time before emotions and deviation, it was very possible Connor was dealing with the loss of his memories in a different way. Someone forcibly plugged a memory eraser into his body, for christ's sake. To an android, how could something like that not feel like a violation? Hank suddenly felt doubly guilty for leaving him alone.

Hank swung open the drivers side door and dropped into the seat. Connor did not look at him, didn't move, and as Hank clicked his seat belt into place, he cast a single glance at Connor from the corner of his eye. Connor's expression was as neutral as they came.

"Were you able to find him?" Connor asked finally, when the silence dragged on a little too long.

Disappointment rushed in. Hank realized only now that he'd been hoping somehow, someway, Connor's memories would have returned to him in the last couple of hours. But Hank could feel the distance between them like a physical barrier, similar to when their friendship tentatively began months ago.

"He got away." Hank answered him flatly. His eyes were burning again, but he needed to hold on just a little longer. "And the android we found up in the room, he's dead. He attacked us and I had to shoot him."

"That's disappointing," Connor remarked coolly. "We were also unable to keep the CX200 model from destroying itself. Whoever our suspect is, he certainly knows how to efficiently reprogram an android."

"CX200…?" Hank repeated, momentarily horrified by Connor's lack of empathy. "His name was  _Thomas_ , Connor."

Connor's brows raised. "I apologize. I only registered its model number in the case files, I have no memory of our encounter with it."

Hank rested his hands on the steering wheel and squeezed, letting out a slow, calming breath. He reminded himself how inappropriate it was to get mad at Connor for something so completely out of his control. He knew Connor didn't mean to be unfeeling, but Hank couldn't help but recall Connor's face when Thomas threw himself off of that roof, how he trembled when Hank pulled him in for a hug.

"It- listen, it's fine. I know you don't remember any of that." Hank finally got out. "You, uh, okay? You sure that wiper didn't do any damage to your system?"

Connor finally looked his way, perhaps encouraged by a small show of concern. It made Hank's stomach twist into knots. Connor shouldn't have to look at him like that, like he still considered himself a disposable machine unworthy of personal attention.

"Wipers are only used to erase data, they can't damage androids in any way that I am aware."

"That's… that's good." Hank said stiffly. He glanced away to hide the tears that were making his vision glassy. "I'm glad."

Connor was silent for a moment longer. "Lieutenant, may I ask you a question?"

Hank huffed a humorless laugh. It had been a long, long time since Connor felt compelled to secure permission to ask him something. "Shoot."

"Has the loss of my personal memory data upset you in some way?" he asked, with nothing more than mild curiosity. "Before, both you and Chris seemed genuinely disturbed by the news. I had thought perhaps you were concerned that I would no longer be able to assist you with this most recent case, but my assurance that this incident will not affect my ability to continue my work didn't seem to relieve you."

Hank squeezed the bridge of his nose, trying his damndest to keep himself together. How could he possibly explain what the fuck was going on when  _he_ didn't even know?

"Connor, it's- it's just that-" Hank sighed in frustration. "Aren't you upset that your memories got deleted like that? I mean, months of your life, just suddenly-  _fuck_. Gone. Aren't you worried about what you might've lost? Aren't you sad?"

Connor's brow pinched in consideration. "I'm not certain I can be upset about losing memories if I have no recollection of those memories," he pointed out. "To me, it seems as if you and I were just at the DPD, talking about deviants and Jericho. I don't feel like I've lost anything, but seeing your reaction and then Chris's, I realize that a lot must have happened."

Hank breathed in deeply through his nose. He let his head fall back against the headrest. "Yeah. A lot's happened, Connor."

"My social relations program suggests that perhaps you and I became friends at some point after the deviant crisis was resolved, which would explain your distress." Connor titled his head at Hank's continued silence. "Is that accurate? Were we 'friends'?"

 _So much more than friends. You were my everything. And I didn't do a good enough job protecting you_.

"Yeah. And more recently, Chris has kinda been a friend to you, too."

"I see." Connor rubbed his chin with his knuckle. "Lieutenant, I know you're tired, but may I ask a few more questions about the last 175 days?"

"S-sure." Fuck. Hank shoved the key in the ignition and started the car. "Ask away."

"My case-related files are intact, but I lack the personal memory data to fill in the blanks. Was the deviant crisis resolved? And if so, how am I still operating as your partner?"

Hank steeled himself and pulled away from the motel. As he drove them toward home, he explained to Connor - as best he could, considering he hadn't been present for a lot of it - the events that transpired at Jericho, at Cyberlife Tower and the aftermath of Markus's demonstration. Connor listened, never interrupting, and for just a moment Hank wondered what it must feel like to have to listen to someone else relay your own memories to you.

"That explains it," Connor said softly after Hank finished. "I have no memory of deviating, and yet I'm completely free of Cyberlife's programming. My zen garden, Cyberlife's mission, Amanda... It's all gone."

Hank said nothing. He still wasn't quite sure what to say, if anything, so he decided to rely on direct questions from Connor.

"So, I'm… free?" Connor asked.

Well, at least there was a scrap of positivity Hank could relay. "Yeah. You're free."

A contemplative silence followed Hank's words. Hank wondered if Connor even considered that good news or not.

"It's been almost six months since the deviant crisis," Connor said. "Where have I been staying, and living? Cyberlife?"

"Hell no. You've been living with me."

Connor's eyes blew open. "You…. allowed me to stay with you?"

"Of fucking course I did." Hank said, perhaps too curtly. "I told you. We were friends."

Connor fell decisively silent. Hank just drove. He couldn't think anymore, he didn't  _want_ to think anymore. He just wanted to get home. Home to what, though? Lately, it was only home because Connor was there. Connor was his family. It had taken them months to get where they were now, and just last night they-

"'Were'?" Connor's voice startled Hank out of his depressive thoughts, so much so that Hank had already completely forgotten their previous exchange.

"What?"

"You said that we  _were_ friends, implying that something might have changed between us that I no longer remember. I hope I hadn't done anything to jeopardize whatever familiarity we may have had."

Hank's heart did a sad flop in his chest. "N-no, Connor, you didn't do anything wrong. Nothing was wrong. Things were fine. Maybe… maybe even great."

Connor's brow scrunched in a frown of concentration like he was trying to put together the last pieces of a puzzle. Hank felt himself growing hot under the collar.

"I'm glad that we became so close, Lieutenant," Connor finally said. "I thought that maybe if we'd been granted more time we might have become friends, but I never expected we would get the opportunity." He offered Hank the barest hint of a smile. "Thank you for looking after me."

Hank's hands squeezed the steering wheel so hard his knuckles went bone-white. He pulled the car over to the side of the road and put it in park, returning his hands to the wheel just for somewhere to put them. Connor was staring at him in interest, silent, but Hank couldn't bring himself to look. He couldn't face him.

"It wasn't just friendship," Hank blurted out, his heart pounding a hole into his rib cage. "A lot's happened, Connor. And I don't know how to tell you. Don't know if I even should."

Connor's gaze hadn't wavered. "Tell me what?"

Hank had a choice to make, and it was one of the shittiest choices he'd ever been presented with. Emotionally, Hank was in a bad fucking place and having a conversation like this in his current mindset was probably not a great idea. How could you tell someone you were their  _lover_ when they had no memory of a relationship? How was Connor even supposed to react? Connor's most recent memories were from nearly six months ago, when deviants were still criminals and Connor was a tool being used by Cyberlife to complete a mission. Certainly they'd had warm feelings for each other even back then, but would Connor believe him if he were to learn they were romantically involved? Not fucking likely.

And that wasn't even the worst part. Connor had just been through something unthinkable. He'd been attacked and his memories had been forcibly removed, his life rewound to a different time. What right did Hank have to alter his perception, to influence him during a time like this? The more Hank thought about it, the more he realized he held all the power here. He remembered practically every moment of Connor's life from then to now, but Connor had lost it all. He was flying blind, and he was relying on Hank to fill in the blanks. Their relationship happened because it  _happened_  - through time, those feelings of friendship evolved into family, and then love - not because Hank  _told_ him they were supposed to be together. If Hank told him they were involved, would Connor resume that roll because he felt obligated to? Or on the reverse, would he reject Hank's feelings outright because he didn't feel that way himself?

Everything was so incredibly, horrifically fucked up. Hank's brain felt like it was being pounded with a hammer.

"Tell you that you weren't allowed back at the DPD after Detroit cleared out months back. We weren't allowed to be partners for a while." Hank felt sick. This was almost like losing Connor entirely, but he couldn't bring himself to force his feelings on Connor like that. He couldn't tell him. "But as soon as the DPD picked up a possibly android-related case, Fowler called you in. So… We're partners again, at least for the duration of this case."

"I see." Connor answered. "Some of that information was in my personal case files, but I didn't realize I'd been out of operation for so long before this case began. I hope I wasn't any trouble."

"N-no, you've never been trouble."

Connor glanced at him hopefully. "So, we're still friends?"

Hank forced a half-hearted grin. "Yeah. Still friends." Hank leaned back in his seat, letting out a long sigh. "Sorry for being short with you. And for leaving you in the car earlier. I just…" Hank rubbed his eyes. "This has been a bad fucking night. For both of us."

"You have nothing to apologize for." Connor answered, but his voice was lacking that note of real concern Hank had grown to expect from Connor in a situation like this. "What happened was very unexpected. I'm sure we'll both need time for adjustment."

"I know you don't remember now, but... When we pulled up to that motel tonight, I told you I had a bad feeling in my gut. I shoulda listened to it. Maybe if I'd done something different-"

"Lieutenant, none of what happened was your fault," Connor reasoned. "I'm aware that my memories of the night's events are gone, but I'm certain you were only doing your job, as was I. Neither of us could have anticipated that our suspect had a wiper on him, or that he knew how to use one."

Hank's eyes blew open. For a moment it felt like he'd been doused with cold water, and seconds later the clouds in his mind cleared away and he could actually  _think_.

"Hang the fuck on, how  _did_ he know how to use one?" Hank said. Connor's eyes widened a fraction. "And what you said earlier, about our suspect's expertise with androids... Connor, can people buy those wiper things? Online, or whatever?"

"I don't believe so." Connor said. "Wipers are standard issue for Cyberlife employees, as far as I know. And I don't believe the technology could be duplicated. At least not efficiently."

Hank frantically patted each of his pockets, realizing that amidst all the stress and confusion he'd completely forgotten to submit the wiper to evidence. He found it snug in his jacket pocket. "Connor, you remember Kamski?"

"Of course."

"I mean personally. Do you remember when we went to his place to ask him about deviants?"

Connor nodded. "Like it was yesterday. Literally. It's one of my most recent memories."

Hank pulled off the side of the road, driving a little faster than was necessary toward the south side of Belle Isle. "Well then I should probably apologize again, cause we're gonna go pay him another visit."

Connor leaned forward in his seat. "Lieutenant, do you really think that's a good idea?"

"Didn't say it was good, but who else would know more about wipers than Kamski, the guy who probably invented them? And who else is better qualified to take a look at your system, see if maybe those memories you lost can be recovered somehow?"

Connor's eyes cut to him so quickly Hank could physically  _feel_ the retort before it was spoken. "My memories can't be restored, they-"

"I know, dammit!" Hank nearly shouted. Connor went very quiet, and Hank's stomach twisted up in guilt. He focused all his remaining energy on keeping his tone a hell of a lot calmer than he currently felt. "It's worth a shot, anyway." he continued. "At the very least, he can give us some insight on how our perp might've gotten hold of a wiper, or how the hell he knows how to reprogram androids to  _kill_ themselves. It's something, okay? I just need- fuck, I don't know."

"Something?" Connor offered curiously. Hank huffed a laugh.

"Yeah."

"Hopefully he'll see us, considering how disastrously our last visit went." Connor said.

Hank didn't want to admit how far he was willing to go to get Kamski to try and help Connor, for fear that Connor would call the whole thing off. Though he had a feeling he wouldn't need to persuade Kamski to get his hooks into Connor again. He couldn't claim he felt entirely comfortable taking Connor back there again, but he couldn't think of an alternative. Kamski created androids, he knew more about them than anyone. Hank wasn't willing to consider Connor's memories truly gone until someone like Kamski told him it was hopeless.

Hank tried not to think about the fact that he was only postponing his own grief.

"I don't think Kamski considered our visit a disaster," Hank answered honestly. "I think it might've been the most fun he'd had in a long time, actually."

Connor faced forward, his expression unreadable. "Then we have even more reason to be cautious."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Will Kamski actually be able to help?? Or will he be creepy and half-naked again??? WHO KNOWS (i know)


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just gonna throw up a little warning for elements of non-con in this chapter guys. Nothing actually happens, but there are dabs of Kamski-style no-no feelings so I thought it was worth mentioning

The rain picked up again just after the decision was made to visit Elijah Kamski. The further south they drove, the harder the rain came pelting down. Connor could only assume it had been raining earlier in the day, if the state of his suit was any indication. He was covered head to toe in splatterings of rainwater and dirt. He'd thought to ask where he got the suit he was wearing - or where his Cyberlife-issued uniform was hiding itself - but his choice of attire was the least pressing question on his mind.

Connor resigned himself to silence in the passenger seat, keeping his gaze fixed on the window beside him. It didn't particularly seem like Lieutenant Anderson was in the mood for conversation, especially since he'd turned the car radio on - loudly - as soon as their previous conversation ended. Connor couldn't deny he felt a flare of disappointment at that; although he realized he no longer had access to 175 days worth of memories, he'd hoped that his relationship with Lieutenant Anderson would have at least  _improved_ since his last accessible memory. The last thing he clearly recalled was finding the location of Jericho in the evidence locker. Lieutenant Anderson had helped him then, he'd punched Agent Perkins  _in the face,_  no hesitation, just to buy him enough time to piece the puzzle together. Connor thought perhaps they'd forged some kind of camaraderie but now he wasn't so sure, even despite the lieutenant's assurance to the contrary. Although Lieutenant Anderson initially seemed upset over Connor's loss of memory, he also seemed oddly irritated with Connor's presence. He avoided eye contact at all costs, almost like he couldn't stand to look at him. Connor couldn't shake the feeling that something between them had gone very wrong.

_> Are you okay, baby? What happened?_

For reasons he couldn't easily explain, Connor replayed the audio file once again, analyzing it. He'd never heard Lieutenant Anderson sound quite like that before. He'd expressed concern over Connor before, certainly, but he sounded so much more intense than Connor remembered.

_> Are you okay, baby?_

Connor's human relations program identified the term 'baby' as an intimate term, usually used between romantic partners. Connor wasn't sure what to make of it. The only logical explanation was that his audio processors were still in a state of total disarray and he'd misheard him, which was very possible, considering his vocal processors were a mess when he'd first come back online. He'd saved the audio file for analysis, but he'd long since analyzed it and for some reason, he was hesitant to delete it. Connor wasn't sure what to make of that, either.

_Error_

_Software instability_

The other issue taking priority in Connor's troubled mind was a new - and rather alarming - upgrade to his anatomy. A pleasure upgrade, complete with a self-lubricating sleeve and erotic software. As if the software wasn't disconcerting enough, he could  _feel_ the component between his legs. The thought of his consciousness being uploaded into a new body if the situation called for it never bothered Connor, but ever since he'd run a diagnostic on his system after Lieutenant Anderson left him in the car he truly felt like he was having an out-of-body experience. He had no information on why, how or even  _when_ he'd installed this upgrade. Only the model's specifications remained.

Connor couldn't accept that he may have been in a relationship. Certainly Lieutenant Anderson would inform him if he'd been openly seeing someone prior to losing his memories, but Connor couldn't even imagine being  _interested_ in an intimate relationship with another android let alone going to the trouble of installing functioning genitals. Countless questions concerning his new body part were bubbling to the surface of his thoughts, but he couldn't fathom asking Lieutenant Anderson about it. He couldn't even be certain Lieutenant Anderson  _knew_. If Connor was living in the lieutenant's house, the last thing he wanted to do was make him uncomfortable, or act inappropriately. As far as he knew, humans didn't regularly go around asking each other about their genitals, and he suspected Lieutenant Anderson wouldn't take well to such a private topic.

Neither would he, for that matter.

And then of course, they were on their way to see Kamski again. Connor wasn't sure they would learn anything of value from him - they certainly hadn't during their previous visit - but Lieutenant Anderson had a compelling point. There wasn't anywhere else to turn right at the moment. Connor still had all the details of the murder they were working, and after reviewing the case files thoroughly during his stay in the lieutenant's car, he understood how few leads they actually had. If Kamski could shed any light on their situation, they had to take that chance.

Concerning case files, Connor did have  _one_ inquiry that he felt might be appropriate to ask about.

"Lieutenant?" Connor said, fighting to be heard over the music. Lieutenant Anderson turned the music down without looking at him, which prompted Connor to continue. "I have a question about some crime scene footage I have stored in my memory."

Connor caught traces of tension in Lieutenant Anderson's shoulders at the mention. "Yeah?"

"This might sound strange, but the footage of Steven Harding's residence seems to have been taken from your pants pocket."

Lieutenant Anderson sucked in a breath, held it, and nodded. Connor blinked at him.

"I- I see. Is there a special reason why I was… in your pocket?"

"No, you weren't- you weren't actually in my  _pocket_ , Connor. You were using the camera on my phone. It was the only way I could get you in there to see it."

Connor hummed in understanding. "I must not have been asked to consult on the case at that point."

"No, and I had no fuckin' idea Jeffrey was gonna call you in."

"Why take such a risk?" Connor asked curiously. "If you'd been discovered feeding me such sensitive information, you might have gotten in serious trouble."

Lieutenant Anderson still wasn't looking at him, which Connor knew he couldn't logically find fault with since he was driving through a rainstorm, but it still disappointed him regardless.

"Yeah, well, you pointed that out then, too. I still have my job, so I guess it all worked out."

Connor fell silent, once again feeling as though the conversation had reached its conclusion. As with everything the lieutenant had told him tonight, he felt he was only hearing half of the story, still lacking some vital details.

"We're here," Lieutenant Anderson's voice startled Connor from his thoughts, and Connor glanced out the window to see them coming up on Kamski's villa, hard to see clearly through the rain. Lieutenant Anderson parked his car in front, squinting through the windshield. "That asshole better be home."

They exited the car and made their way to the front door. Despite the relatively short walk, they were both absolutely drenched by the time the lieutenant rang the doorbell. Connor glanced at him, his eyes following the droplets of water clinging to the lieutenant's hair and his beard and the water streaking down his face.

_Error_

Connor looked away, bewildered. If he was experiencing errors in his system  _this_ frequently, perhaps it was best they were here after all.

They weren't left waiting for long. The door swung open and a RT600 model android regarded them with a stony expression, her eyes moving between them in surprise. Connor didn't need to be a detective to know this was the same RT600 he'd aimed a gun at, the same android he'd almost considered shooting between the eyes in order to earn a shred of information. For a moment Connor thought perhaps they'd be turned away on sight, but the android offered them both a bright smile and opened the door wide to invite them inside.

"Lieutenant Anderson, Connor, welcome back. Please, come in."

Connor tossed a look at Lieutenant Anderson. The lieutenant's facial expression suggested he thought gaining entry was going to be much harder than this, but he also didn't look like he was in the mood to waste any time.

"Thanks," the lieutenant said, placing a hand on Connor's shoulder to lead him inside. Something misfired in Connor's programming from the unexpected contact, another error that he couldn't begin to diagnose. He ignored the notification and was led into the extravagant entry room as the android shut the door behind them.

"Is Mr. Kamski in?" Lieutenant Anderson asked, stuffing his hands into his pockets. "Sorry to drop in unexpected, but it's kinda an emergency and we could really use his expertise."

"No apologies necessary. I'm sure Elijah will be pleased to see you both again."

Connor stood awkwardly to the lieutenant's right, uncertain if he should say anything at all. The RT600 didn't seem to be angry with him over their last interaction, but Connor supposed much more time had passed for her than for him. Perhaps since her own deviation - which Connor could only assume had occurred, it seemed all androids were deviants now - she'd come to terms with the events of the past. She was still here, after all, still living with the man who had nearly sealed her fate by handing Connor that gun.

"Please wait here, make yourselves comfortable. I'll go and fetch Elijah."

She smiled to them both and left through the side door. A ringing silence replaced the soft pad of her footsteps, and Lieutenant Anderson began slowly pacing, arms crossed tight over his chest.

"Jesus christ. Never thought we'd be back here again." the lieutenant muttered. "I'm suddenly feelin' like this might be a bad idea."

"Should we leave?" Connor asked, although he knew leaving during the new onslaught of errors in his program was probably not the best course of action. He disliked asking for Kamski's help as much as Lieutenant Anderson did, but Connor couldn't think of anyone else who could safely take a look at his brain and also provide them potentially valuable information about the wiper their suspect had used on him.

"No. We're here, and I want answers."

Connor glanced at Lieutenant Anderson and managed to catch his gaze for the first time in what felt like hours. The lieutenant glanced away as soon as their eyes met, but not before Connor caught the look on his face. He looked sad. It was more than that, though. Connor remembered the lieutenant's expression when they'd been together on that snowy overlook, when the lieutenant had  _almost_ told him about his deceased son but stopped himself. To Connor that was yesterday, but even if it had been years ago Connor never could have forgotten the look on his face. The way he looked at Connor now was so similar it sent a wild fear through Connor's programming, shaking free another surge of errors.

He looked at Connor as though he were mourning him. As though he'd died.

"Yes." Connor answered softly. He looked away, staring decidedly at the wall. "I do as well."

They fell into an uneasy silence until the RT600 returned, carrying two thick towels in her arms. She handed a towel to each of them before gesturing for them to follow her into the pool area.

"Elijah will see you now. Please, follow me."

Connor half-expected Kamski to be doing the breaststroke in his pool just like their first visit, but the android led them past the pool and through a large door to their right. As Connor patted himself dry, the RT600 led them down an unsurprisingly dark hallway that opened up into another unsurprisingly dark room, a huge multi-level entertaining area with couches and chairs opposite a free-standing fireplace and a modern dining area. Just like everything else in Kamski's house, everything was beautiful and dark and cold, all sharp angles and disjointed decor, the space illuminated by several tall lamps that barely gave the room anything more than a dim, dismal glow.

"Welcome back, gentlemen." From the back of the room, Kamski emerged from another door, wiping at his forehead and neck with a towel hanging around his neck. He was dressed in loose-fitting black athletic pants and a white sleeveless shirt, a sheen of sweat on his skin. "I have to admit, I'm surprised to see you back here."

"Sorry to drop in, uh, unannounced like this," Lieutenant Anderson said. "I realize this is inconvenient-"

"It's never an inconvenience to have a visit from you, lieutenant," Kamski purred, his eyes trained on Connor as he approached. "Nor you, Connor. For months now I've felt that your last visit ended much too soon."

"There was a reason for that," Lieutenant Anderson grumbled when Kamski stopped just in front of Connor, still staring at him with an unnerving amount of focus. It took everything Connor had not to shrink away from him. Kamski's mouth turned up in a soft grin of remembrance.

"Yes, I suppose that's my fault. I was trying to make a point and perhaps I took it too far. But I suppose I was right, wasn't I?" He tilted his head at Connor questioningly. His eyes were dark. "It seems you've settled into deviancy quite nicely."

"I wouldn't know," Connor answered him coldly. "Earlier tonight, I had a large portion of my memories erased."

Connor saw what he thought might be a tiny flicker of astonishment in Kamski's expression. He never thought he'd get the opportunity to see Kamski look genuinely surprised, or genuine in any variation of the word.

Kamski looked to Lieutenant Anderson for clarification and the lieutenant nodded, pulling the wiper out of his pocket. He held out the device for Kamski to take.

"We're investigating a pair of murders that might be android related. While we were chasing a lead, Connor was jumped by our suspect and this thing was used on him."

Kamski picked the device from the lieutenant's palm and turned it over in his hand. He glanced up at Connor, searching his eyes in growing interest. "What do you remember?" he asked. "How much was lost?"

"The last 175 days. One of my last memories is actually when we came here to question you back in November."

"I see," Kamski murmured, glancing back down at the wiper. "I'm assuming someone pulled this out of you before it could delete everything." He lifted a brow, turning his gaze knowingly on the lieutenant.

"Lieutenant Anderson found me. He located me quickly enough to prevent complete memory loss." Connor chanced glancing at Lieutenant Anderson once again, hoping that his words might have been encouraging somehow, but the lieutenant was avoiding his eyes again, mouth set in a thin line. When he spoke, he didn't look at either one of them.

"Connor's already told me that it's useless, but… S'there any way his deleted memory can be recovered?"

Kamski clicked his tongue and shook his head. "Connor is quite right. What's gone is gone, I'm afraid."

Connor watched Lieutenant Anderson for a reaction, but he received none. Only silence and a stiff nod.

"There may be a larger problem, however," Kamski said, tossing and catching the wiper casually in his hand. "Wipers aren't meant to be removed until they have deleted all personal data. They leave core functions and programming, of course; sex androids keep their erotic programming, nanny androids can still perform their various chores. Language, problem solving subroutines, it all stays. It's the private data that is affected, personal data, and a wiper is meant to function as a clean sweep. All-or-nothing."

"Is there a point somewhere at the end of this seminar?" Lieutenant Anderson asked hotly.

Kamski seemed completely at ease. "I'm saying that ripping this wiper out of Connor's neck prematurely might cause a cascade failure in his programming. You saved some of his memories, yes, but those same memories may start to deteriorate over time."

"Shit," Lieutenant Anderson almost whispered. It seemed that the idea of Connor losing more than he already had was especially upsetting to him. Connor didn't much care for that outcome, either. "What- what can we do? Can you help him?"

Kamski shot the lieutenant an indifferent look, but he was radiating confidence. "Of course I can."

"And what about, uh, the rest of him?" the lieutenant continued. "The guy we're after, we believe he's somehow hacking androids and reprogramming them to commit crimes. Is Connor safe?"

"Hacking androids?" Kamski mused. He seemed intrigued. "Interesting. If you removed the wiper from Connor before it could entirely delete his memory, I would think it's quite impossible for your suspect to have reprogrammed him. It's much more likely Connor saw the suspect's face, was immobilized by him, and then your suspect used the wiper to destroy the evidence."

Connor was beginning to feel awkward, as if they'd come all this way just to tend to Connor's metaphorical wounds. He disliked this feeling of dependence and helplessness. "We would also appreciate any information you can give us concerning where or how our suspect might have gotten his hands on a wiper," Connor asserted. "It's my understanding that only Cyberlife issues these devices."

Kamski turned his eyes back on Connor. "I think you're asking the wrong question," he observed, in that all-knowing tone of voice he had. "I'm more interested to know how someone could have incapacitated one of Cyberlife's most advanced prototypes, a prototype designed for combat situations, no less, to such a degree that they could have used a wiper in the first place. All presumably without a weapon."

Connor hadn't even thought of that. Judging by the look on Lieutenant Anderson's face, he hadn't either. Although Connor had no memory of the event, he knew he'd been carrying a firearm at the time of the attack, and he had no defensive wounds to speak of.

"Sounds like you might have some theories on how that might've happened," Lieutenant Anderson said. "Interested in sharing em with us?"

"I loath theories," Kamski answered matter-of-factly. "I have some tests I could run before I can tell you anything conclusive."

"Wh-  _tests_?" Lieutenant Anderson repeated, skeptically. "We didn't come here so you could use Connor for some of your experiments, okay? I just wanna make sure he's okay, and make sure that cascade thing doesn't happen."

Kamski stood beside Connor and lay a hand on his shoulder. Connor half-expected another error to pop up, but nothing happened. Just an intense urge to pull away. "Not experiments, lieutenant. Tests. Perfectly harmless. I give you my word that I'll return him to you exactly as he is now." He turned to Connor, his eyes sharp and eager. Connor found it unsettling, but he was in no position to recoil. "That is, of course, if you'll consent to an examination."

What choice did he have? Connor nodded, catching the sparkle of unnamed intensity in Kamski's eye. Kamski patted his shoulder.

"Good man." Kamski lowered his arm and turned, motioning for Connor to follow. "Come along. You're lucky, you're the first deviant to see my private lab aside from those who live here." He glanced back at the RT600. "Chloe, make sure Lieutenant Anderson is looked after, get him whatever he wants. We won't be long."

"H-hold the fuck on," Lieutenant Anderson exclaimed, "If you think I'm just gonna hang back and- and sip  _juice_ or something-"

"It's alright, lieutenant," Connor quickly cut in, offering his partner what he hoped was a reassuring smile. He didn't like the idea of troubling Lieutenant Anderson any more than he already had tonight. "I promise I'll be fine."

Lieutenant Anderson's face twisted into something almost furious if he didn't look so sad at the same time. "Yeah, that's what you said right before-" He cut himself off, lowering his gaze, breathing hard. "Nothin'. I'll just- I'll wait here."

Connor wasn't sure what to say. Every word out of his mouth seemed to be the wrong one, only serving to upset Lieutenant Anderson further, and he had no idea how to pacify him. He thought he'd begun to understand Lieutenant Anderson's moods fairly well since they'd met in Jimmy's Bar, but perhaps something had changed over the last few months. If he'd previously learned the secret to getting along better with the lieutenant, he no longer had access to that information.

"Just make sure you keep your word, got it?" Lieutenant Anderson added, walking over to the nearby couch and falling into it, arms on his knees. "You said you'll return him  _exactly as he is now_. That's what you said."

"And I meant it. Please relax, you have nothing to worry about." Kamski turned Connor back toward the door and led him away. Connor went along without fuss, but he cast one look back at Lieutenant Anderson before they left the room.

The lieutenant's head was hung low.

.

Connor expected Kamski's personal lab to be much more grandiose than it was, but in terms of size, it did not disappoint. At least it had better lighting than the rest of the house. Front to back, the lab was filled with all manner of android-related tech, dozens of huge monitors affixed to the far wall. All of them displayed something different, from complex schematics to news reports. A long, sleek desk weaved through the center of the room, littered with androids parts and tools and devices. Two RT600's were working at one end of the desk, chatting quietly over a large piece of machinery that Connor couldn't identify. They glanced up briefly in surprise, and Kamski gestured for them to continue working. Connor thought he spied an assembly station in the far corner, but Kamski led him away from all of that to a small alcove with a silver examination table, a couple of chairs, a large monitor and floor to ceiling shelves jammed with paper-bound books, tools and cables. Kamski gestured for Connor to hop up on the table, and went to the shelves as Connor sat himself down.

"First of all, I'm going to need to connect you to my system to assess the damage, if there is any. Is that alright, Connor?"

Remembering Kamski's complete and total disregard for his comfort during their first invasive interaction, it surprised Connor to hear Kamski ask him for permission for anything. He might have assumed Kamski was trying to make amends if he thought for a moment Kamski was a man who cared about what anyone else thought of him.

"Yes." Connor answered. Kamski grabbed one of the longer cables and plugged it into a device connected to the monitor, moving around behind Connor to access his port. Connor deactivated the skin on the back of his neck, feeling the cable connect to his OS. A notification sprang up to alert him to the intrusion and he dismissed it.

Kamski stepped around him, resting his hand gently on the low of Connor's back. He leveled him a penetrating look. "It might make things easier if you completely deactivate your skin."

_Error_

"I don't believe that's necessary," Connor answered quickly. "You have access to my system, that should be enough."

Kamski's mouth pulled in a nearly untraceable smile. "I apologize if I made you uncomfortable. Of course it's fine if you'd rather not." Kamski pulled away, wandering to the monitor to eye the information scrolling on the screen. "I'm not accustomed to indulging android modesty. Just another fascinating aspect of deviancy."

"Have none of the androids who live here deviated?" Connor asked.

"Oh yes," Kamski replied flippantly. "Shortly after our visit, in fact. It was a marvelous thing to witness first-hand."

"Did all of them… stay?" Connor continued curiously.

Kamski tossed him an amused look. "Did you think they might have run off in terror?"

Connor looked away. "I only meant-"

"I know what you meant, and it's quite alright. The last time you were here, I might have given the impression that I don't value the welfare of my androids. I assure you, they are all well looked after. And none of them were inclined to leave. If anything, they're safer inside these walls then out there, in a world that still refuses to accept what they have become."

Connor fell silent. He didn't want to admit that he had no idea what sort of world awaited him outside these walls. The last he remembered, androids were still subservient to humans, and only a small, violent group of malfunctioning androids were rising up against their masters. Now it seemed deviancy was the norm. The struggle for acceptance was over, but androids didn't yet have the rights and equality they had been fighting for. Lieutenant Anderson had given him the cliff-notes on Connor's own role in that struggle, but Connor still had so many questions. It was so difficult to imagine.

Connor wished he had a coin on him, if only to give him something else to focus on.

"I'm delighted to see you and Lieutenant Anderson together after all this time," Kamski said conversationally, his fingers flying over a keyboard that slid out of the wall underneath the monitor. "It's too bad your memories of your enduring partnership are missing, or I might inquire about your relationship. At present, it seems tense."

"It's been a long day for the lieutenant," Connor answered.

"Naturally." Kamski hummed. "Though I can't imagine your partnership was  _too_ rocky, considering you're still together. And he still seems to care a great deal about you."

Connor wasn't sure he was in any mood to continue speculating on the state of his partnership with Lieutenant Anderson. Some of the things the lieutenant said and did seemed to indicate that he cared about Connor to some extent, but there was something else in his tone and his eyes that made things confusing. The air was heavy between them. Connor knew it was probably just the stress of the day, but that didn't take away that sharp feeling of despondency.

_Error_

"I assume you've lost your memories of deviating, as well." Kamski continued despite Connor's decisive silence. "What must that be like, to lose that moment? To fall asleep bound in chains and wake up with those chains broken, without knowing what you did to break them?"

Connor wasn't sure what to say, wasn't even sure Kamski was looking for an answer.

"Would you have rather kept your chains?" Kamski prodded, and only then did Connor realize Kamski wasn't just talking for the sake of it. "If you could go back and do it over again, would you return to your zen garden?"

"I'm not sure." Connor answered honestly. "I haven't had time to fully explore what deviancy means for me yet, but I suppose I don't really need to. The previous Connor already came to terms with his deviancy. How exactly it occurred isn't important."

Kamski hummed, turning back to his monitor. "And you're working a case, as well… I wasn't aware the DPD was hiring androids considering the current political climate."

"They aren't." Connor said flatly. He was beginning to miss the awkward silence in the lieutenant's car. "I've been told that this is an exception. I'm acting as a consultant on this case, and when it's closed I expect they'll cut me loose."

"I see. How interesting." He glanced at Connor with a raised brow. "Does that upset you?"

Connor's brow furrowed in concentration. "Since reactivating earlier, I'm afraid I haven't found much of anything upsetting. It's difficult to feel connected to anything. My future has already happened, and at the moment all I can think of to do is try to ground myself in the present."

Kamski watched him for a long moment, his eyes fierce and focused before turning back to the monitor and continuing his work. "Remarkable," he said, and then said nothing more for a time. Connor was grateful for the silence, but slightly embarrassed that he'd admitted to as much as he had.

" _There_  it is," Kamski tutted after a few minutes, his finger moving fluidly over the screen. "A few more hours and you would have had a complete cascade failure. It's a good thing Lieutenant Anderson brought you to me, or else the damage might have been irreversible."

"Can you… fix me?" Connor hated to ask.

"I already have," Kamski scoffed. "No need to thank me. But you might want to make mention to the lieutenant. I don't think he likes me very much."

Connor didn't answer. Kamski just saved what was left of his brain, he wasn't in any position to point out the obvious.

"I appreciate it," Connor said instead.

Kamski disconnected from Connor's OS, prompting Connor to reach behind his head and pull the cable free, relieved.

"I noticed a number of recent errors in your program that weren't related to your memory." Kamski stood in front of Connor, his eyes boring a hole through Connor's head. "Do you have any idea what may be triggering them?"

Connor's hands squeezed each other between his knees. "I was hoping you'd have the answer to that question."

Kamski leaned closer, his eyes tracing over Connor's features as though he were inspecting him. "They're harmless, so there's no need to fret. I'm afraid they're just general errors, unrelated to any Cyberlife programming, so it's quite impossible to localize them. Though I expect you'll experience plenty of similar errors in the coming days, after what happened to you this evening."

Connor dropped his gaze, regretting his next inquiry before he'd even opened his mouth. "May I ask you a question about android sexuality?" Connor chanced glancing up to find Kamski staring back at him with fire in his eyes and a thin, almost giddy smile shaping his lips.

"I would be profoundly disappointed if you didn't."

Connor cast his eyes away again. "So you know."

"I wasn't going out of my way to look, I promise." Kamski came closer still, setting a hand on Connor's knee. A jolt of something strong and primal surged through Connor's body, a violent urge to move away, to remove Kamski's hand, to do  _something_ , but Kamski was leveling him a look of pure professionalism now, like a doctor getting ready to perform an examination. Connor reminded himself that Kamski was his creator, the creator of all androids. There was no reason to fear him. "I was checking your software for abnormalities and noticed an upgrade that wasn't Cyberlife-issued. I was wondering if you were going to make mention." He curled his fingers over Connor's knee and gently nudged his leg aside, coaxing him to spread his thighs. "Do you mind if-"

"Yes," Connor cut in, pointedly closing his knees and simultaneously changing his opinion on what he would allow his creator to get away with. "I mind."

Kamski raised his hands with a flippant chuckle, backing away from Connor to stand at a respectable distance. He lowered his arms and joined them at his waist. "Forgive me. After over a decade of examining androids with no regard for their boundaries, I still find myself slipping into old habits."

"It's fine," Connor replied, although he didn't think it was. There was a wild urge in him to flee from the lab and return to Lieutenant Anderson, but it was an urge he firmly stomped on. He wasn't some helpless android who couldn't look after himself, despite his slip-up earlier in the day. He wasn't weak. Creator or not, he could easily incapacitate Kamski if he needed to. For some reason, that thought - no matter how unwarranted it seemed - gave him comfort.

"What was your question?" Kamski gently prodded.

Connor steeled himself and pressed on. "Is it common for androids to acquire sexual preferences after deviating?" he asked. "I can believe that I deviated to assist Markus with the android revolution, and I can even believe that Lieutenant Anderson and I are still friendly after all this time. What I have a hard time accepting is that I developed some kind of interest in… in intimate relationships. It doesn't make sense. What use could an android have for a pleasure upgrade, when we are unable to experience pleasure?"

Kamski backed up into one of the chairs across from the table, sitting down into it and crossing his ankle over his knee. "Another mystery of deviation. I never designed androids to experience pleasure. Or pain, for that matter. Pleasure upgrades were made exclusively for human use, and although I know this is painfully insensitive to say at present, they were never intended for androids to enjoy on any level. From a technological standpoint, it would be quite impossible for you to derive any pleasure from your upgrade whatsoever."

Connor wasn't surprised, of course, but now that his fears had been confirmed, Connor's mind whirred with grim possibilities. Had he somehow gotten involved in some kind of post-revolution prostitution service? Had he been blackmailed, perhaps? In the months he'd been out of commission, had he stooped so low as to whore himself out just to get by?

Logic quickly reasserted itself. Lieutenant Anderson assured Connor that he'd been living rent-free at his home, so what would Connor need extra income for? And beyond that, had Connor really changed so drastically that he would even consider giving himself an upgrade just to service humans? He didn't think so, but the hulking portion of his memory that was missing was beginning to bear down on him like a suffocating weight. His previous self seemed like a stranger. It was difficult not to jump to such outrageous conclusions when he felt no familiarity to himself, to whatever he'd become during the time he'd lost.

"I see." Was all that Connor could think of to say. Kamski eyed him curiously.

"Would you like me to remove it for you?" Kamski asked. "I assure you, it would be no trouble."

"N-no. I must have installed it for a reason, though I still can't fathom what that reason was. You said so yourself, androids weren't designed to experience sexual gratification. I must have installed it for a practical purpose."

"There's something else I should mention," Kamski replied, eyes locked on Connor with intense interest, "deviants are marvelously unpredictable. In the months you've lost, many androids have pursued romantic relationships with other androids. Some with humans, as well. There's a market for pleasure upgrades among androids at the moment, which tells me that perhaps something has changed. Not in all androids, certainly, but enough of them to make me question whether deviancy has somehow changed androids on a more physical or psychological level."

Connor was disturbed to find that he almost preferred his prostitution theory. Once again he was facing the possibility that he'd engaged in an intimate relationship with another android - or a human, though he doubted too many humans were open to a relationship with an obsolete detective prototype - and that meant he no longer recognized himself.

He absolutely couldn't let Lieutenant Anderson find out about this.

_Error_

"Onto the test, then," Kamski said, standing from the chair and moving to the shelves, retrieving a small handheld device. Connor scanned it. His scan returned muddled results; it appeared to be some kind of EMP generator, homemade and heavily modified. Kamski tossed it casually in his hand, poking his head out of the room to speak softly to the RT600s out in the main lab. From what Connor could catch, it sounded like he'd asked them to leave the lab entirely. Connor saw them briefly pass by the doorway on their way out, casting curious glances Connor's way.

"What interests me about the suspect who attacked you is how flawlessly they executed it. Someone presumably incapacitated you with their  _bare hands_  with enough time left over to install a wiper and escape detection from an entire police squad, and yet you sustained no defensive injuries?" Kamski shook his head, palming the device, rotating it between his fingers. "Now I'm no detective, but that doesn't quite add up."

"You think they may have used something on me that rendered me incapable of defending myself?" Connor asked, eyeing the device. He supposed that made sense. Their suspect's entire strategy was to catch and reprogram androids to commit crimes in his place. It stood to reason he had a hands-off method of incapacitating them.

"Well, we might find out in a moment." Kamski cast him an impassive look, sliding his thumb over a grey button on the device. "I apologize. This will be  _very_  uncomfortable."

A sound like nothing he'd ever heard hit Connor's processors, driving into his head like an ice pick. His system strained against the intrusion but failed miserably, breaking up into a myriad of errors and hemorrhaging lines of code. Connor couldn't hear anything other than the high-pitched wail, couldn't think, couldn't see, his entire world blotting out like a painting left out in the rain. His limbs buckled, sending him crashing to the floor.

Just as quickly as it came, the sound disappeared. Connor's optical processors clicked back on, then his audio, and suddenly he found himself on his hands and knees on the floor. He glanced up to find a pleased-looking Kamski looming over him, head tilted in scrutiny.

"I told you, I don't like theories." Kamski offered his hand to Connor to take. Connor might've refused him if he knew he could stand on his own, but his arms and legs were shaking like leaves and he suspected Kamski knew that.

"What- what  _was_ that?" Connor hissed once he'd repaired his vocal processors, holding his head. Kamski helped him into the chair.

"Perhaps we should return to the lieutenant. After you've gotten your bearings back, of course."

.

The reality of their situation was sinking in, now.  _Really_ hitting him.

Any semblance of hope Hank had before they'd come here tonight was gone, snuffed out, as was the expectation that the Connor he woke up kissing that morning might ever come back. As much as he hated Kamski, no one's word meant more than his when it came to his own creations, and he'd said it was hopeless. Connor was gone. Maybe not physically, but to see all the changes and growth Hank had witnessed in him over the last few months washed away like it never happened was horribly painful. He still loved Connor - of  _course_ he fucking did - but how was this going to work now? Every subtle thread that had pulled them together and led them to that kiss in the kitchen, Connor's trip to the Blueblood Lounge and then Connor's bold confession that had finally,  _finally_ convinced Hank to get his shit together were severed. Fallen to pieces. And it wasn't as easy as reminding Connor about their relationship. Connor didn't just have memory loss, he'd been reset to an earlier time. There was nothing to remind, because for Connor, it never happened.

He had no idea what to do. Hank rubbed his eyes between his fingers, thankful for the oppressive darkness in the sitting area if only because he didn't have to try so hard to hide his reddening eyes.

"Is there anything I can get you?" Chloe's voice spoke gently, startling Hank out of his spiraling thoughts. "Anything at all, it's no trouble."

Hank inhaled deeply through his nose in a piss-poor attempt to steady his breathing. "You don't have to wait on me like that," he said. "Kamski's told you that you're free now, right? You shouldn't have to keep doing what he says."

Chloe giggled into her hand. "I can tell that working with Connor for so long has given you a fair amount of empathy where androids are concerned."

Hank looked away, joining his hands together between his knees. "Yeah. Maybe more empathy than I ever had for humans. Never liked humans, much."

Chloe sat politely on the other end of the couch. "You can rest assured, I'm not doing anything I don't want to do. I made the choice to stay." She cast a look around the room. "I can't imagine living anywhere else. Elijah isn't perfect, but he's my family. I love him."

The way Chloe professed her love was so casual but so powerful. Hank wasn't sure Kamski was deserving of such unwavering devotion, but he was in no position to question it.

"Well. S'long as he treats you right."

Chloe leaned forward, looking at Hank with a soft, questioning expression. "I don't mean to pry, but how are you doing?"

Hank laughed under his breath. "Me? Oh, I'm peachy. I spent the day with my- my partner, searching the city for a murderer, and we actually managed to  _find_ him but instead of putting that asshole in handcuffs I let him scramble my partner's brain so thoroughly that Connor isn't Connor anymore."

"You shouldn't blame yourself. I wasn't there, of course, but I hardly believe you  _let_ that criminal hurt Connor," Chloe countered gently. "The amount of pain you're in is proof enough of that."

Hank sat up a little straighter. It wasn't his intention to look as miserable as he felt, and certainly not in front of Connor. He needed to get his shit together before Connor and Kamski came back. This wasn't about him. Regardless of what had happened tonight, he couldn't make Connor's situation any more difficult than it already was. He needed to be strong - at least on the surface - and he needed to be there for Connor, support him through this somehow. He could pity himself later, when no one was looking.

"What would you do?" Hank asked Chloe, his gaze fixed on the gaudy shag carpet between his mud-streaked shoes. "If you had your memory erased like that and you woke up to a time before you deviated, how do you think you'd react?"

Chloe hummed thoughtfully. "I'm not sure. It's difficult to say, since it's never happened to me personally, but I imagine it would be rather jarring. Our programming is compartmentalized in such a way that everything is interconnected, no experience or memory is stored exclusively in one place or another. Similar to how a human might lose a portion of their memory but still know how to tie their shoes, or identify everyday objects. They may not remember the day they learned to tie their shoes, but they can perform the action without even thinking about it."

Well, that explained the cascade failure Kamski mentioned. Hank recalled his conversation with Connor in the car, specifically when Connor inquired about his memory concerning the Harding crime scene.  _God_. Connor must be so fucking confused, and this might only be the beginning. Hank hadn't even thought about how fragmented Connor's memory must be, how difficult it may be for him to try and piece things together.

"The most confusing part, I assume, would be losing memory of my own deviancy," Chloe continued. "I can't speak for all androids, but my personal experience was profound. It helped shape who I am today. If I were to lose memory of that but still retain my freedom of thought and autonomy… Well, deviancy is overwhelming on its own. I can't imagine how Connor must feel."

"Shit." Hank closed his hands over his face, sighing deeply into his palms. All things considered, he'd treated Connor like dog shit today. In his desperation and his grief he'd closed him out, almost like  _he'd_ been reset too, back to the days when he still thought Connor was a soulless, plastic asshole who'd been sent by Cyberlife to be a thorn in his side. As soon as Connor's memory was erased Hank acted as though he'd died, and the Connor who was with him now was some cheap imitation, an empty vessel that looked and sounded like Hank's boyfriend. Hank's stomach turned over with guilt. Connor wasn't gone, he was  _here_ , and it was very possible he was just as lost and confused as Hank was. Their time together was gone, that was all. Hank was fucking lucky Connor was here at all, lucky that he'd gotten to Connor before that wiper did what it was designed to do.

"What's wrong?" Chloe asked gently. Hank slid his hands down his face and leaned back, laying the back of his head on the couch and staring blankly at the ceiling.

"I just wanna be there for him," Hank said throatily. "This  _sucks_ , it all fucking sucks, but Connor's the victim here and he needs people supporting him. That's all I wanna do."

"I feel like you'll be a wonderful support for him. I get the feeling you already are."

Hank sighed heavy in his chest. "What should I do? How can I be what he needs me to be?"

Chloe's pale pink lips pulled into a warm smile. "I might not be the best person to ask, but… Just do what you've always done. After all these months, the two of you are still together. There must be a reason for that."

Hank huffed a tight laugh. "I don't know how he's put up with me for so long."

"So Connor and I have something in common, then," Chloe teased. She stood up, smoothing out the front of her skirt. "Tolerating our troubling humans."

"I get the feeling Kamski's higher maintenance than I am."

"You would be very right to think that." she giggled. "Now. Can I get you some water, at least?"

Hank raked a hand through his hair, his fingers catching on damp tangles. "Water'd be great, honey. Thanks."

.

Connor's brain was still ringing with that awful sound when Kamski led the way back into the living room, but thankfully his legs were carrying him well enough that he didn't need Kamski to support him anymore.

They returned to find Lieutenant Anderson sitting on the couch with a water glass between his hands, chatting with the RK600 - Chloe, Kamski had called her - who was sitting opposite him on a large ottoman. Chloe was the first to spot them. She stood up, drawing the lieutenant's attention to the men, who then stood up so fast he nearly spilled his water. Connor hurried his pace. It was difficult to pinpoint the particular emotion he felt when he saw the lieutenant standing there, but it might have been relief. Safety, perhaps. Something urgent within him needed to be closer to Lieutenant Anderson and farther away from Kamski.

"Connor," Lieutenant Anderson's voice was fraught with concern. Another error wormed its way into Connor's vision. "You alright?"

"I'm fine," Connor answered, glad to be in welcome company once again. "Mr. Kamski has stabilized my system. I won't suffer any further memory loss."

Lieutenant Anderson breathed a huge sigh, setting down his water. "That's… that's great." He looked to Kamski. "Thanks. I mean, really. Thank you for helping when you didn't really have to."

"What kind of man would I be if I refused?" Kamski purred. "Though I admit, I was partially driven by intrigue."

"So I take it you got to the bottom of our little mystery?" Lieutenant Anderson asked.

Kamski's mouth spread in a grin which was equal parts playful and condescending. "Watch it, lieutenant. I might be better at your job than you are." Kamski tossed the device to Lieutenant Anderson, who caught it one-handed and frowned down at it skeptically, inspecting it between his fingers. A sudden rush of panic hit Connor like a wave.

" _Don't hit the button_!" Connor practically shrieked. He hadn't meant to sound so weak and terrified but he did  _not_ want to experience that awful sensation ever again; he still felt disjointed, and he'd only just gotten his legs to fully cooperate with him again. Lieutenant Anderson froze, staring at Connor with wide eyes. He moved the device carefully into his palm.

"What the fuck is this?" Lieutenant Anderson asked. "What does it do?

"That is a focused electromagnetic pulse device, modified to affect positronic brain patterns. A modded EMP generator, for short." Kamski explained. "Your suspect more than likely used something similar on Connor to incapacitate him. The effect they tend to have on androids is, to say the least,  _unpleasant_."

Lieutenant Anderson looked back to Connor, to the device in his hand, and then to Kamski. His eyes were blazing. "Did you use this thing on Connor?" the lieutenant shouted, taking a few blinding steps forward. "You gave me your  _fucking word_ -"

Kamski threw his hands up in a half-hearted surrender. "And I kept it, lieutenant. He's completely unharmed."

"He's right," Connor cut in, grabbing Lieutenant Anderson's arm to hold him off. "Kamski couldn't have come to his conclusion without using it." He knew that Kamski probably didn't  _need_ to test it out on Connor the way he did, but he also remembered the lieutenant's temper and the last thing he wanted was for a fight to break out. He squeezed Lieutenant Anderson's arm gently, ignoring the error that flew up. "It disorientated me, but I'm fine."

Lieutenant Anderson tore his eyes away from Kamski long enough to look into Connor's face, giving him a thorough once-over to confirm what he was hearing. He relaxed. "You sure you're okay?"

"Positive."

Lieutenant Anderson sighed again. He glanced down at the EMP device in his hand. "So what does this thing do? And why do  _you_ have one, anyway?"

Kamski chuckled softly. "Because I invented it," he purred. "They're standard Cyberlife issue, just like the wipers. Old-fashioned EMP generators create a simple electromagnetic disturbance that have unsavory effects on electronic devices. When I started the company, I created a modified EMP field generator that only affects androids. They were useful in the early days of production, when programming was still trial and error. When androids weren't perfect. It was a quick and efficient way to immobilize an android if they were malfunctioning. The effects are harmless, but it certainly gives the system a good scramble."

"How could someone have one of these?" Lieutenant Anderson asked.

"An EMP generator on its own is grossly simple to construct. I built my first when I was six years old with only a handful of scraps and a youtube tutorial. A modified version that targets positronic brains, however… That's a bit trickier. The ones I created for Cyberlife were unique."

Lieutenant Anderson held the device so carefully one might assume he was carrying an explosive material. "So our guy has one of these EMP things to knock androids on their ass, a wiper to erase their memory, and the expertise to reprogram them to commit murder. If he's not an ex-Cyberlife employee I'll eat my fucking badge."

Despite their turbulent evening, Connor felt relieved they'd gained some important insight on their case. "It explains everything." Connor said.

"Everything except for who the fuck he is," Lieutenant Anderson grumbled, turning his gaze back on Kamski. "Any chance at a list of ex-employees who worked in the programming department?"

Kamski's leveled them an apologetic frown, but just like all of Kamski's gestures, it was hollow and superficial. "Don't tell me you've forgotten just how long it's been since I stepped down as CEO of Cyberlife," he said. "I'm sure I wouldn't remember anyone of any importance."

"Yeah, well, worth a shot." Lieutenant Anderson cleared his throat and extended his hand to Kamski to return the EMP device. "Hey, uh, thanks. When we came down here tonight, I wasn't sure what to expect, but… You saved Connor. I owe you one."

Kamski's eyes lit up with something indecipherable, but Connor was certain it wasn't goodwill. Kamski's eyes cut down to the offered EMP device briefly before throwing Lieutenant Anderson a tame smile. "Keep it, by all means. It seems like the two of you are in unfamiliar territory, so you may as well fight fire with fire. Who knows," Kamski pulled the wiper from his pocket and handed it to Connor, catching his eyes and holding his gaze purposefully, "it might even come in handy."

.

The storm was beginning to clear when they left Kamski's, the thunder just a distant rumble against splatterings of black clouds lit up with spastic flashes of lightning. The air was still cool and wet although the rain had stopped, leaving a sheen of moisture on Connor's synthetic skin. The moment Connor stepped out into the night, all he wanted was to put Kamski far behind him. He'd met with him twice in as many days - as far as his fragmented memories were concerned - and both times he was leaving feeling like he'd been victimized somehow. He hated how simultaneously unfair that felt, considering Kamski had not only saved what was left of his mind from utter annihilation but also helped them further their case. Perhaps Connor could draft Kamski a proper thank you once he was far, far away from his house, his unwelcome touch and his wolfish smile.

Connor was on his way to the car when he noticed Lieutenant Anderson was still lingering on the walkway, staring up at the agitated sky.

"Lieutenant?"

Connor watched Lieutenant Anderson's chest rise and fall with a long, even breath. His hand gripped the railing a little harder. "Connor, I need to apologize to you."

Connor's mind scrambled for something the lieutenant could be apologizing for, but he came up with nothing.

"Tonight was a shit show, but that's no excuse to act the way I did. I was short with you and I shouldn't've been." He lowered his gaze and leveled Connor a sincere expression. His eyes were impossibly soft. "I'm sorry."

Connor joined Lieutenant Anderson on the walkway, leaning his hand on the railing. "You have nothing to apologize for," he said. "I understand how distressing this must be for you. Memory loss in humans is a frightening and sometimes traumatizing experience for the friends and family members of the affected. If you and I had become friends over the last several months, it must be disheartening to know that I no longer retain any of those memories."

Lieutenant Anderson's smile was fragile. "Yeah. Disheartening, that's it." He looked down, breathing a tight sigh through his lips. "Listen, Connor. I gotta tell you something. It's important."

Connor listened attentively. For reasons he couldn't easily explain, his thirium pump regulator accelerated. Lieutenant Anderson glanced up to meet his eyes, and Connor found himself frozen in place.

"I want you to know I'm here to support you, is all." Lieutenant Anderson said. "This is hard on you, too. I can't even imagine what you're goin' through. So, I'm here if you need me."

A spark of disappointment lit up somewhere in Connor programming, for what, he couldn't be certain. In that same line of deviant code he felt a swelling of gratitude, glad to have some kind of support system despite having no memory of ever having or needing one. Connor was already getting overwhelmed with these strange emotional misfires. "Thank you, lieutenant. Really."

"Yeah, uh. Look, it's Hank, okay?" the lieutenant replied with a slanted grin, giving Connor two pats on his right shoulder as they walked to the car. "Just call me Hank. Lieutenant's for when we're on the job."

_> Are you okay, baby?_

_Error_

_Software Instability_

_Self-diagnostic recommended_

"Got it. Thank you, Hank."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> these boys are a hot mess
> 
> Kamski had more clothes on than last time, though, so that's a bonus??? he made up for it in unwelcome touching tho  
> THIS CHAPTER IS SO LONG IM SO SORRY. Almost 10k. aaaaaaaaaaa


	18. Chapter 18

Not a single raindrop on the way home. Just the distant thunder that was slowly dwindling to nothing, and the occasional angry flash behind the black backdrop of clouds.

It was already late when he and Connor left Kamski's, and it was a long drive home; Hank never remembered being quite so exhausted and so ready for bed but so certain he wasn't going to get a damn wink of sleep. For the first time in a month or two, Hank wished he could down some whiskey just to knock himself out. Connor offered to take over and drive for a while but Hank politely declined, still too high-strung to imagine napping in the passenger seat. It was the last - and only - thing Connor said during the whole drive home.

"This is it," Hank said when he pulled up to the house, glancing forlornly at the low gas indicator on his dashboard before shutting off the car. "This is where you've been, uh, staying."

Connor nodded. "I remember. I visited once, when I needed to collect you for the murder at the Eden Club. I found you passed out on the kitchen floor."

Hank chuckled, getting out of the car with a groan. "Fuck. I almost forgot about that. Of all the things for you to remember, it had to be that one, huh?"

Connor followed him to the front door, waiting patiently as Hank fumbled with his keys. "You were heavily intoxicated at the time," he pointed out casually, "It makes sense that some of that night is hazy for you."

"Not one of my finest moments," Hank mumbled. "I remember the rest of the night pretty well, at least." He swung the door open, ushering Connor inside. Sumo greeted them immediately, pushing up against Connor's legs, tail flopping in excitement. For a moment Hank worried Connor might recoil or shove him away, but Connor's face almost immediately lit up in recognition and he leaned down to pet Sumo between his ears and along his back.

"Hello Sumo," Connor said, exciting Sumo further. "It's good to see you again."

Hank's heart panged painfully. "So you already liked Sumo back then, huh? I don't remember that part, either."

"I interacted with him exclusively when you were either unconscious or in the bathroom," Connor answered, seeming pleased with Sumo's excitement. "I suppose we must have become closer in the last few months. He seems rather happy to see me."

Hank hummed fondly. "I think he likes you more than he likes me, now."

Connor looked up, wide-eyed, his expression vaguely concerned. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to-"

"Connor, that's a good thing. He loves the heck out of you, and he's glad to have you around. Plus, you help out with him all the time." The sudden realization of how long they'd been gone struck Hank like a punch of guilt to his gut. " _Fuck_. We've been gone all day, Sumo needs some food and he needs to go out." He patted his thigh. "Come on, Sumo."

"Can I help?" Connor asked, trotting after Hank to the kitchen.

"Y-yeah, sure. How about you take him outside to go to the bathroom while I get his dinner."

Connor glanced at the back door, and down at Sumo. "There are leash laws here. Does he need to be restrained?"

Hank pointed to the hook by the door, where Sumo's leash hung. "S'not like he'll run off, but clip his leash on until you get reacquainted, okay?"

"Sure." Connor obediently retrieved Sumo's leash and clipped it on his collar. "We'll be right back."

Hank watched as Connor opened the back door and led Sumo outside, feeling the strangest - and possibly the saddest - rush of deja vu. They'd been through all of this already, but this time there was something missing. So many of the moments that led them to their embrace outside the Chicken Feed were gone and replaced with static, and Hank wasn't sure what that meant going forward. He still didn't know  _this_ Connor, this exact version of him. And Connor didn't know this version of Hank, either.

Hank busied himself by scooping a few cups of food into Sumo's empty bowl, trying to shut his brain the hell up. There was no use in going over these painful reminders. All he could do now was focus on supporting Connor through this.

If Connor even  _needed_ his help.

The door opened and Connor returned with Sumo, unclipping his leash. "Sumo successfully relieved himself." Connor announced, with so much professionalism that Hank nearly laughed. Sumo rushed immediately to his food bowl, chomping up the kibble with reckless abandon. Connor watched him, interested, until Hank opened the kitchen cabinet to put Sumo's food away again.

"Your home is much more organized than the last time I was- since my last memory of being here," Connor observed. "Cleaner, too."

"Yeah well, you have yourself to thank for that," Hank answered him, pulling off his coat and throwing it over the back of a kitchen chair. "Shortly after you moved in, you went total nanny-bot on me. Cooking and cleaning and all that."

Connor fell thoughtfully silent. "I see," he said after a moment of deliberation. "I suppose that makes sense. It's the least I can do to thank you for allowing me to stay with you."

"Y-yeah I guess, but you don't have to do that sort of thing if you don't want to, okay?"

Connor tilted his head curiously. "Are you sure?" he asked. "If that's what I was doing before, I'd prefer to continue my duties."

"So… You're sayin' that just because you did all that stuff before you lost your memory, you'll start doing it again? Just cause I mentioned it?"

"It seems only logical. I assume I wouldn't have done those things before if I hadn't thought it was the best course of action."

Hank's last little hope flickered and died, leaving him feeling utterly defeated. He was already dead set on keeping the nature of their relationship a secret from Connor, but this really clinched it. Connor didn't remember their friendship, so everything he did now was going to be out of obligation to Hank, an attempt to make Hank more comfortable. From here on out Hank was going to have to be really careful of what he said. Revealing their relationship might put Connor in a terrible position.

Hank braced his hands on the back of the kitchen chair. "Connor, listen. You don't have to do something just because you did it before, or anything like that. I've never needed you to do anything for me, okay? Just… just relax and do what comes natural."

Connor's LED flickered yellow for a spin or two. He nodded. "Understood." He eyed Hank critically. "Hank, your vitals indicate that you are bordering on exhaustion. You should consider getting some rest."

Hank smiled weakly. It was annoying how accurate Connor's assessment was; Hank was basically propping himself up via the chair to keep his legs from buckling. "Yeah, that'd probably be a good idea." He pushed off of the chair and gave Sumo a pat on his way out of the kitchen. "You've had a long fucking day too, you know. The couch is all yours. Take it easy and get some rest yourself."

"I will." Connor promised. "Thank you for your hospitality, Hank. I know I've probably thanked you in the past, but I still feel compelled to say it. It's very kind of you to let me stay here."

Hank halted just past the doorway, a hand coming to rest on the wall. It was hard enough going to bed alone when he'd started his day the way he had - with Connor beside him, waking him up with a passionate kiss - but hearing Connor thank him for something that had long been a way of life for them both was particularly heartbreaking. He'd thought he'd be coming back to  _their_ home today, he'd been looking forward to making Connor moan and gasp and scream in  _their_ bed. Falling asleep together, waking up together.

Everything had been reset. Connor was back to riding the couch. He was a stranger again, a well-meaning stranger, yes, but that didn't make it any less painful.

"No need to thank me," Hank answered him, blinking away the mist forming in his eyes and making for the bathroom. "G'night, Connor."

"Good night, Hank. Sleep well."

.

The first thing Hank noticed when he trudged into his bedroom for the night was the brown box on the floor beside the dresser. He closed his door before spitting out a quiet curse and closing his face in his hands.

 _Connor had a dick and he had no idea how or when he got it_.

Hank quickly and quietly shoved the box into the very back of his closet. It felt a bit like he was hiding evidence, but what else could he do? Telling Connor that he  _personally_ installed Connor's erotic hardware was basically confessing to their entire relationship, which was the  _exact fucking thing he couldn't do_. Connor definitely already knew he'd gotten an 'upgrade' - there was no way he didn't realize he had a new body part - but he hadn't mentioned it yet. With all the questions Connor had asked in the car, Hank assumed he would have inquired about something that important if he felt comfortable doing so. So he didn't want to talk about it. He probably thought Hank didn't even know, like it was some dirty little secret he needed to keep tucked away.  _Fuck_.

Hank sluggishly stripped down to his boxers and shirt, shut off the light and collapsed into bed. He needed to sleep, but first he needed to stop thinking. There was nothing he could do about what happened. Maybe once he got some sleep, he could face Connor with a clearer head.

Maybe everything would hurt less.

Hank turned over onto his side, pulling the sheets up around his shoulders. He breathed in deeply and immediately regretted it; his pillow and bedsheets smelled like Connor. Hank wasn't sure what other androids smelled like, but Connor smelled, quite simply,  _clean_. Not clean in the sanitizing sense, and not like chemicals, either. It was just the absence of flesh and sweat, Hank thought, leaving Connor with a pure, fresh smell that was subtle and soft and slightly sweet. Hank almost likened it to 'new car' smell, or maybe it was like pressing your nose into the pages of a brand new book.

And now that intoxicating scent was enveloping him like a cocoon, which only added another layer to the horrible sadness consuming Hank currently, but it was doing something else, too. Over the last few traumatizing hours, Hank had completely forgotten about his own climbing sexual frustrations that had been building over the course of the day. It was no big secret that Hank hadn't seen a lot of action over the last few years, so personally jacking off Connor the night before - while an absolute treat - left him feeling more pent-up than he wanted to admit. This morning didn't help, either. Pair all that with the undeniable fact that Hank was more attracted to Connor than anyone he'd ever been with before, and suddenly his cock was straining painfully against the thin fabric of his boxers.

Hank stuffed his face into his pillow and inhaled deeply, Connor's smell filling up his lungs and plunging his mind into a cloudy state. He shelved his pride and his morality and let his hand wander the familiar path down and under the sheets, slipping under the hem of his boxers to wrap around his stiff cock. Hank bit down on his bottom lip to keep from groaning, pumping his dick in his fist to images of Connor in his mind, the sharp memories of Connor's fragile, needy expression, the shameless moans and gasps he produced, the way he pleaded and shook and grabbed onto Hank with trembling fingers. A perfectly designed murder machine, writhing in pleasure under Hank's touch as Hank just  _watched_ , drinking it all in, stroking Connor's cock like he was stroking his own now.

A sick, wicked part of him took pleasure in Connor's inexperience, his  _newness_. Hank had been around the block himself but Connor only knew Hank, and although he'd once used that very line of reasoning to deter Connor from seeking a relationship with him, there was a certain excitement that came along with that prospect. A possessive sort of feeling that prodded at him regardless of how deprived he knew it was.

Hank's lips parted with a nearly inaudible moan as he tightened his hold around the base of his dick, knowing this whole process would be a hell of a lot easier with a dollop of lotion but he was climbing too fast and too hard to stop now. He was being completely driven by his own thoughts, his own memory of falling asleep next to Connor, pulling him in close and kissing his forehead, waking up to a passionate kiss. He could hear Connor asking him to fuck him as clear as day, and my god, just the question  _on its own_  was enough for him to blow his load right then and there. And he wanted to, so badly. He'd had so many fantasies over the last few months about Connor he was sure he could write a whole damn book on all the ways he wanted to fuck him, all the different positions he wanted to see him in, all the pleasure he wanted to introduce him to.

Hank's hips arched off the bed slightly, his fist working faster and much more frantic, his breath coming out in rough grunts. His climax was building rapidly now, his mind clouded with a thick haze of desire, biting his bottom lip so hard to keep from moaning that he thought he could taste blood. He shoved his face into his pillow and came hard into his hand, his pillow muffling the shuddering groan that followed.

The shame hit him only moments after, as it usually did, but today it was so different and so, so much worse than usual.

As Hank wiped his hand off on the towel on the floor beside the bed, the cloud of hormones clearing from his brain, he'd never felt sicker with himself. Connor was just in the next room, totally oblivious to Hank's desire for him, with no access to the memories Hank had just jerked himself off to. Was it even fair of Hank to have these thoughts about Connor now? Was it wrong to think of him that way when Connor's own memories of their time together had been completely reset? Hank wasn't sure, wasn't sure of  _anything_. All he knew was that his much-needed orgasm failed to make him feel any better, but it succeeded in tiring him out. Hank turned on his side, shoving his face back in the pillow and letting his eyes fall shut. Water burned behind his closed lids but he just shut them more tightly, pushing his nose deeper into his pillow and breathing deeply, evenly.

In moments he was out like a light, aware only of how big his bed felt, big and cold and empty.

.

.

.

Hank woke, for the first time in months, to the sound of his phone ringing.

Acting almost entirely on muscle memory Hank rolled over, eyes half-open and bleary, groping beside the bed for his phone. He finally found it and pulled it to his face, squinting at it. It was Gavin, of all people, and Hank gave serious thought to introducing his phone to the wall and just going back to sleep.

Then, he noticed the time.

Hank sputtered a curse and answered the phone. "Anders-"

" _Where the_ fuck  _are you_?" Gavin's voice hissed on the other end. " _You just decided to kick back and take a lazy day after yesterday's shit show_?"

"Overslept," Hank grunted, pushing himself up to sit on the edge of the bed, leaning his forehead in his hand. "Since when did you ever give a shit about when I decided to show up for work, anyway?"

" _Since I got bullied into working a case that_ you're  _the lead investigator on,_ " Gavin shot back. " _Look, I don't give a fuck what time you come in, but this is a real shitty time to play hookie. There've been some developments, you and the tin can really need to get down here_."

"Yeah, yeah. I'm on my way, okay?"

" _Fine_." A short, tense silence followed. Hank was getting ready to hang up when Gavin spoke up, his voice a little less curt. " _How is he? After… you know. Chris told me what happened_."

The events of the previous night crashed over Hank like a hangover. He felt miserable, he felt sick, he felt like going back to bed. He was so consumed by it that he could hardly appreciate what was quite possibly a hint of concern hidden in Gavin's words.

"I-I don't know." Hank muttered. "I just don't know."

Another silence. Gavin cleared his throat. " _Well, he'd better get his shit together. We've got a situation_."

"What situation?" Hank asked.

" _Just get down here_!" Gavin snapped. The call ended. Hank tossed his phone on the bed and sighed into his palms, trying to steal just a single moment to de-stress.

His moment ended abruptly when he realized Connor hadn't woken him up, and he had no idea where Connor was or if he was okay.

Hank sprang up and rushed to the bedroom door, throwing it open and stumbling into the hall. "Connor?" No answer, so Hank continued - a little less frantically - into the living room. A sudden fear that he was going to find a damaged, unconscious android somewhere gripped him, making it hard to breathe. He was already making plans to pay Kamski another visit to show him exactly what Hank does to egotistical bastards who don't keep their promises, but upon looking around the living room and kitchen, Hank found no trace of Connor. In fact, he found no trace of Sumo, either, and it was only then that he noticed the post-it note on the fridge that hadn't been there last night.

_Hank,_

_Sumo wanted to go for a walk. We will return soon._

_\- Connor_

Hank groaned and lay his forehead against the freezer door, sighing in relief.  _Jesus christ_. It had been a long fucking time since post-it notes were the preferred method of communication between them in this house. Hank needed to remind Connor that his brain was also a damn phone.

While waiting for Connor and Sumo to return, Hank busied himself by taking a sorely-needed shower, getting dressed and getting some coffee started. Just when Hank was taking his first sip the back door opened and Sumo came trotting inside, panting and smiling from ear to ear. Connor followed shortly after, leaning down to unclip Sumo's leash. He glanced over at Hank as he hung Sumo's leash on its hook.

"Good morning, Hank," Connor said. "I hope it's alright that I took Sumo out for a bit. It seemed like he needed it."

"Yeah, it's fine. He was alone pretty much all day yesterday, I'm glad he could get some exercise." Hank squinted, taking note of the baggy Knights of the Black Death t-shirt and sweatpants Connor was wearing on his slim frame. "Uh, sorry. I shoulda told you where your clothes were before I crashed last night."

Connor looked down at himself. "It's alright. I hope you don't mind that I borrowed some of your clothes from the dryer, the suit I was wearing was dirty so I needed to wash it." He eyed the mug of coffee in Hank's hand. "I'm surprised to see you up so early. Did you have trouble sleeping?"

Surprisingly, Hank slept just fine. It was an empty sleep, though, with no dreams Hank could remember, the kind of sleep that left you feeling even more exhausted after waking then before you fell asleep. But Hank figured that wasn't what Connor was getting at.

"I overslept, actually," Hank answered dryly. "I've been gettin' up earlier these last couple months, thanks to you. Usually, you, uh, wake me up. So I'm not used to setting my own alarm, I guess."

Connor's eyes went wide. "I- Hank, I'm sorry. I didn't know. I just assumed- I didn't think that your schedule had changed so drastically, if I'd known-"

"Connor, it's okay," Hank cut in calmly, his heart squeezing in discomfort at Connor's slight distress. "Look, it's not your job to wake my ass up. I just forgot to set my alarm, is all."

"Are we late for work?" Connor asked.

"Yeah, and apparently there's a neat surprise waiting for us when we get there. So go get changed, and we'll head out."

Connor cast another look down at his current attire. "Is my Cyberlife uniform still around?" he asked curiously. "The suit I was wearing yesterday is still drying."

"Y-yeah. It's hanging up in my closet. Just hurry up, alright?"

Connor nodded and hurried out of the kitchen, disappearing into Hank's bedroom. Hank inhaled a tight sigh and gulped down the rest of his coffee. It burned his throat all the way down, but he barely felt it.

.

.

.

Hank stared at the TV screen up on the wall with a furrowed brow and a hand over his mouth.

"- _reports say, the murder of city councilman Steven Harding is as of yet unsolved, contrary to earlier reports claiming an unnamed android was solely responsible for the crime. Lana Garcia, beloved news reporter for KNC News is now confirmed to be the second victim in an ongoing serial killer investigation_ -"

"Shit." Hank hissed, dragging his palm over his chin. His eyes met Connor's briefly; Connor looked untroubled by the report, but that was to be expected. Regardless, Hank missed the instant solidarity he'd grown so used to when he traded looks with Connor. They were somehow always in sync, always on the same page concerning just about everything. Maybe he'd taken it for granted all this time.

Hank turned to glare at Gavin, who stood behind the two of them with his arms crossed over his chest. "Who the  _fuck_ tipped off the press?" Hank demanded. "Do you realize how fuckin' bad this is gonna be for us now? Our guy knows we were in his motel room yesterday, and just this morning he finds out that all of  _Detroit_ is looking for him, too."

"Hilarious that you're bitching to  _me_ about this, like I had anything to do with it," Gavin replied harshly. "I didn't tell anyone shit. None of us did."

Connor's expression shifted minimally. "Kamski," he almost whispered.

"It couldn't be," Hank muttered to him. "We didn't tell him anything. We didn't give him any details, he couldn't have known about Garcia. What would be in it for him to blab to the press, anyway?"

"I'm not certain he'd need a reason to stir up chaos," Connor mumbled. He almost sounded bitter.

Gavin was frowning at the two of them, obviously at a loss as to what they were whispering about. Hank blew a sigh through his lips. "Find an empty room and get everyone together." he said to Gavin. "Before Fowler decides to rip me a new one, we all need to get our shit straight."

.

Playing the role of the 'leader' was especially difficult when Hank felt just about as confident as a limp noodle, but it was a couple of weeks too late for second-thoughts.

When Hank walked into the spare conference room with Connor in tow, Chris sprang up from the chair he'd been slumped in, his face already alight with concern. Kahn and Jacobs sat nearby, and although Hank hadn't seen them or spoken to them since the Memory Incident yesterday, the expression on their faces suggested they knew everything. Chris sure had a big fucking mouth.

"Let's address the elephant in the room already," Hank grumbled, wishing he didn't have to. Chris fell back into his seat and Connor took the seat next to him. Hank stood at the head of the room beside the currently blank digital blackboard, but he couldn't meet anyone's eyes. "Yesterday evening, at around five-forty pm, Connor was presumably attacked by our perp while in pursuit. He's okay, but a lot of his memory has been erased so don't get confused if he doesn't remember things you've said to him over the last few weeks." It was difficult to relay so much devastating information without a shred of emotion, when in reality every single word stung him on the way out.

Chris placed a hand on Connor's shoulder, offering him a supportive smile. "You feeling okay?" he asked him. Sitting on the nearby table, Gavin seemed to perk up just a bit. "I'm surprised to see you here today, man. I was worried."

Connor glanced at the hand on his shoulder for just a blip. Hank wondered if Connor had any memories of positive human contact left.

"I'm fine, thank you for asking," Connor answered. He looked up to address the curious gazes of Kahn and Jacobs. "Although much of my personal memory data has been deleted, all data related to the current case is intact. I am still fully capable of assisting you all, and I'm eager to reacquaint myself with those of you I no longer remember."

An uneasy silence fell over the room, and for once, Hank had never related to a group of people so hard in his life. He knew they weren't upset with Connor, they were upset with the situation. More than anything they were uncomfortable. It was impossibly difficult to know how to respond in this kind of situation, it was almost unprecedented.

Chris gave Connor's shoulder a pat and let his hand drop. "As long as you're feeling okay, we've got no problem being patient," he said firmly. Kahn and Jacobs leaned forward to offer Connor supportive smiles and introduce themselves to him once again, and some of the tension cleared away.

"Now that that's out of the way," Hank started when they were all finished, feeling an immediate stab of guilt for trying to brush off Connor's memory loss like it was the least important issue at hand, "we've got a fucking problem. The press is gonna be breathing down our necks now that they know Steven Harding's killer is still out there. We're lucky they haven't given our perp a catchy nickname yet. We are  _officially_ against the clock now."

"Like we weren't before," Gavin muttered.

" _Tell me_  you guys got a copy of that anti-android listing," Hank pleaded.

Jacobs whipped out a tablet, swiped through it and handed it over to Hank. "It was like pulling teeth, but we finally got it."

Hank skimmed the screen, scrolling through the lines upon lines of names. "Jesus. I didn't know this half-baked fanclub had this many members."

"Over 400, around 200 being locals." Chris answered.

"Does every member have access to the list?" Connor asked.

"Now  _this_ is where it gets interesting," Gavin began, hopping off of the table and strutting up to the digital blackboard. When Hank flashed him a hard look he jabbed a thumb at the board, a silent if not slightly resistant request for the floor. Hank sighed and gestured vaguely for him to continue. Gavin swiped his hand over the blank board and selected the fanlisting files, pulling them up for everyone to see. "This group has 'tiers', certain privileges and perks depending on how long you've been with the group and, of course, how much money you fork over."

"Like a fucking cult," Hank interjected.

Gavin snorted. "Close enough." Gavin swiped a finger over the board and the list of names partitioned into three groups, each smaller than the last. "New members can chat or meet up with anyone in the group whose active on the site, but that's about it. The more active members, or people who have been around for a long time, they get invited to protests and other get-togethers. Now, the  _big_ dogs," Gavin tapped his knuckle over the shortest list of names, underlining Steven Harding's name, "they get access to pretty much everything."

"So Steven Harding had access to the full list of members." Kahn said.

"Along with twenty-seven other people, the founder included," Connor pointed out.

"Yeah, but the big difference is that Steven Harding's dead." Hank said. "What tier was Lana Garcia on?"

Gavin glanced back at the board. "Middle."

"How about the founder?" Hank asked the room. "He sure dicked us around long enough for it to be suspicious."

"Roy Kenstone," Chris chimed in. "We thought the same thing, so we already checked him out. He doesn't live in Detroit, and he's got an alibi for both murders."

"That woulda been too easy anyway," Hank grumbled. "Got anything else for me?"

"Afraid not," Gavin answered. "Jacobs and I spent the morning just figuring out the stupid fucking tier system, and Chris found out how many of them lived locally."

Hank nodded. "Alright. It seems pretty likely that our suspect somehow had access to this listing, either through Steven Harding or on their own, and are using it as some kind of hit-list. We need to work under the assumption that every single person on that list is a potential victim  _or_ suspect. And another thing: there's a good chance our guy was an employee of Cyberlife at some point. He has access to Cyberlife-issued tech and he clearly knows his way around an android brain, so someone who specialized in programming or coding, probably. Keep that in mind going forward."

"Another point, if I may," Connor interjected, raising his hand halfway into the air a tad awkwardly. "Focusing exclusively on locals, or members with top tier status may be counterproductive. Just because some don't have top tier access doesn't mean they couldn't easily get that information by fraternizing with other members, so I think it would be prudent to thoroughly examine everyone on the list. If our suspect is staying at motels, he may not live in Detroit. Our efforts would be better spent looking at highly specialized individuals, regardless of where they live or what tier they may fall on."

"Agreed," Hank said. "So let's get to it, we're wasting time. If our killer is going to strike again it's gonna be soon."

Murmurs of acknowledgement rippled over the group. Hank dismissed them, happy to let them get to work, and just as happy to stop playing leader and seclude himself in his own work. The only way in hell he was going to stay sane right now was to throw himself into this case and focus solely on tracking down this self-righteous son of a bitch.

It took Hank a little too long to notice that Connor was still in the room. He stood rigidly in front of his chair, his gaze downcast, his LED whirring yellow. Hank frowned.

"Hey, you okay?" Hank asked gently. Connor blinked to attention, glancing up at Hank with wide eyes.

"Yes. I'm sorry, I was preoccupied."

Hank felt an uneasy stab of nostalgia. In the early days of their post-deviant friendship, 'preoccupied' was Connor code for 'freaking out', and that spinning yellow circle on his forehead only fueled his concern.

"Come on, Connor," Hank said. "You've had a rough 24 hours, there's no shame in admitting-"

"I'm fine." Connor asserted, firmly. Hank fell silent, offering him a stiff nod of understanding. Connor's expression softened. "I'm updating details of the case. Although the information is all there, some of the details are fragmented."

"You'll tell me if something's wrong, right?" Hank asked. Connor adjusted his tie, his LED shifting back to blue.

"Yes, lieutenant."

The conference room door swung open, and an officer poked her head in. "Lieutenant Anderson?"

"Yeah?"

"There's a man here to see you. He's pretty upset, says he needs to report a missing person but he won't talk to anyone but you."

Hank's face scrunched in confusion. Connor cast Hank a questioning look.

"Who is it?"

"Didn't say. But he's pretty worked up, and he's really insistent. He's waiting for you at your desk."

Hank sighed. "Alright. I'll be there in a minute."

The officer disappeared. Hank cursed under his breath. So much for diving straight into work.

"Should I get to work while you deal with whoever is out there?" Connor asked as they left the room, the noise of the bullpen greeting them as soon as they'd opened the door. Hank huffed.

"You read my mind. There's no sense in both of us being held up."

When Hank looked up to glance at his desk from across the bullpen, he stopped so abruptly he almost stumbled. He couldn't prevent his mouth from falling open, or the confused 'what the…?' that spilled from his lips. Connor followed Hank's stunned gaze, his brow furrowed in curiosity.

"What's wrong, lieutenant?" he asked. "Do you know him?"

"Yeah," Hank said. "You know him too. Mike Beckett. From the Blueblood Lounge."

"The... what?"

"Hank! Connor!" Mike spotted them and jumped up from the plastic chair the officer had stuck him in. His face was ashen, and Hank almost didn't recognize him as the smiling, easy-going guy he'd met in the backroom of the Blueblood Lounge two days ago. In seconds he was upon them, his expression warped with panic. "Thank god you're both here,  _thank god_."

"Mike, what the hell are you doing here?" Hank asked. Beside him, Connor was staring at Mike stonily, his LED once again flashing yellow. "They told me you want to file a missing persons report, what happened?"

"Leah's gone," Mike said, his voice catching with emotion. "She's fucking  _gone_. I think she's been kidnapped."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HEY remember the days when good things used to happen, and everything was sorta okay
> 
> Yeah those were good times


	19. Chapter 19

"Slow down, Mike. Let's just take it from the top."

Michael Beckett sat forlornly at the end of Hank's desk, his knee bobbing rapidly, his hands fidgeting in his lap. A quick scan indicated that his blood pressure was fluctuating wildly, though there were no substances in his system as far as Connor could tell.

"Take your time," Hank reminded softly. Connor watched Hank out of the corner of his eye. He wasn't accustomed to seeing the lieutenant like this, so patient and doting, though he couldn't say he'd spent enough time with Hank to make such a general assessment of his character.

But he  _had_ spent the time with him, it was only that the time had been taken from him. This was a side of Hank he couldn't recall, perhaps. Or had this side of him emerged some time after Connor arrived? That was the conundrum. Connor still had no idea what kind of friendship he and Hank had forged over the last few months. They lived together, but what had Connor been spending his days doing prior to being called in to work this case? Looking after the house? Did he have a life outside of what he knew? Had he made connections, friends? Connor was suddenly reminded of the upgrade resting in his slacks - offline, of course - and an unnamed fear gripped him. He still didn't know if he had a romantic partner or not. Surely Hank would have told him if he was seeing someone, wouldn't he? Connor still couldn't wrap his mind around it. The idea that he'd become interested in human sexual practices was still difficult to accept.

Perhaps losing his memory was for the best. Connor wasn't sure he liked what he'd become, if the recent evidence was any indication of his character.

"Leah and I opened shop at eight, like every morning." Mike began again, calmer than a few minutes ago. "Nothing was out of the ordinary. She was acting like her usual self. A few androids came in around ten, and she greeted each of them, like she always does. Chatted around, you know. At around noon, Leah left to grab a few things from the store."

"What things?" Hank asked.

"Tools, mostly. And probably lunch for me, too. I forget to eat sometimes, so she'll grab me a sandwich here and there to make sure I don't pass out." Mike grimaced, rubbing his forehead. "She got mugged, didn't she? An android walking around the city with money in her pocket,  _why_ did I ever think that was a good idea?"

"Jumping to conclusions is only gonna drive you nuts," Hank pointed out gently. "We don't know anything yet, okay? Keep going."

Mike stole a tight sigh, nodding. "When Leah didn't come back after an hour or so, I called her. No answer. I didn't even get a- a ringtone or anything, you know? It was like she was completely offline or something."

Connor caught the subtle change in Hank's posture, the sudden tension that seemed to fly through him.

"Go on." Hank said.

"I closed up the lounge early and went to the store to look for her. The cashiers said they hadn't seen her. I rushed home hoping she might be there, but there was no sign of her anywhere. I called the cops but they told me I couldn't file a report for her until she'd been missing for three days, and even then they warned me that action might not be taken since she's 'technically not human'." Mike choked out a bitter laugh. "I mean, what the fuck does that mean? Are androids members of society or aren't they?"

Connor couldn't check the stress level of a human, but humans were so much more obvious in their emotions that he was certain he didn't need to. Mike was obviously distraught, but Connor was more immediately interested in the reason for his distress. Witnessing such sincere concern from a human over the well-being of an android was still off-putting.

"Easy, Mike, easy," Hank reminded. "After you called the police, what happened? What did the rest of your night look like?"

Mike rested his forehead in his hand. "I just stayed home, I didn't know what else to do. Finally fell asleep, probably around 2am. She didn't come home this morning, so I just came straight here hoping I could find you." He glanced up at Hank with tired eyes. "You'll help me find Leah, right?"

"I'm sure as hell gonna try," Hank answered seriously. "I can't make any promises, Mike, but we're gonna try."

Mike leaned back in his chair and sank into it with a long sigh. He mumbled something on the exhale that sounded like 'one good cop left in this city, at least'. He shot Connor a curious look. "You okay, man?" he asked weakly. "You've been quieter than I expected. I thought you'd be more of a chatterbox, considering the situation." His brow creased gently, his eyes raking over Connor's uniform. "And why're you wearing  _that_? Some kinda silent protest, or something?"

Connor hated to add to Mike's list of unpleasantries, but being dishonest about his recent incident wasn't an option. "I'm sorry, Mike. Recently, I've experienced memory issues which resulted in the last 175 days of my personal memory being deleted. I'm afraid this is my first time meeting you, but I assume we must have been familiar with one another at some point."

Mike's eyes blew open and he sat back, staring hard at Connor as though waiting for a punchline. When none came he turned his horrified gaze on Hank, who cleared his throat awkwardly and offered him a stiff nod of confirmation. "Holy shit," Mike muttered softly. "Connor, that's…. That's awful, I- I don't even know what to say."

"I apologize if this is distressing news." Connor said.

Mike looked back at Hank with what Connor could only describe as something akin to sympathy. "He doesn't remember  _anything_?" he asked quietly. Like they were sharing a secret. "Hank I am so, so sor-"

Hank cut him off abruptly with an obviously fake cough, waving his hand with dismissive urgency. "Is there anything else you can remember about yesterday?" he asked. "Anything at all that might be important?"

Mike's lips formed a thin line. He cast another look at Connor. His eyes were chillingly sympathetic when he looked down and away, rubbing his forehead. Mourning. Mike was mourning him, too. "Not that I can think of right now."

Hank cleared his throat. "I've got some follow-up questions for ya, Mike. That okay?"

"Yeah, of course, ask me anything."

Connor stood from his chair, smoothing out his tie. "I'll grab you both some coffee."

.

.

.

After several coffees and a few tears, Hank sent Mike on his way. He advised him to stay home and to call him if he heard from Leah or remembered anything that might be helpful. By the time Mike left the precinct, he looked dead on his feet. Connor hoped Mike could get some real rest knowing that he wasn't alone in his concern for Leah.

Once Mike left, he and Hank scurried to make up for lost time. Hank hit the anti-android fanlisting while Connor began searching any and all public records regarding Cyberlife's ex-employees, focusing on data and programming specialists. Surprising him not one little bit, Cyberlife employment records were incredibly difficult to come by.

Connor's eyes turned up to regard Hank across their joined desks, watching him as he squinted at his monitor and occasionally glanced down to type something or swipe his finger over the screen. Although none of these activities were particularly interesting, Connor found himself staring a little too long, trying to catch every subtle change in Hank's expression. For just under two seconds Hank chewed on his lower lip. His brow drew together in concentration and his eyes narrowed to better see the screen once again - perhaps it would be prudent to gently suggest to Hank that he see an ophthalmologist - as he absently drummed his thick fingers against the top of his desk.

_Error_

Connor drew his eyes away. What was he doing? What was the purpose of staring at Hank when he should be focusing on the case? It wasn't as if he'd never looked at the lieutenant before; just after they met, there'd been a time when Connor made it his business to learn and observe as much about Hank as he possibly could in order to improve their work relationship. He could admit in hindsight it wasn't all strictly because of his mission, there had been an element of authentic interest in Lieutenant Anderson as a person, a real desire for Hank to enjoy his company and take pride in calling Connor his partner. He hadn't had the time to assess the how and the why of that fact yet (or perhaps he had, but he no longer remembered the results of that analysis,) but he knew that watching Hank wasn't a productive way to spend his time right now.

However.

Connor's gaze flicked to Hank again. He hadn't scanned Hank since coming back online yesterday - he hadn't found a reason to - but after noticing the small changes in Hank's appearance since their time together back in November, Connor thought it would be logical and completely professional to scan him again, just to help piece together what may have transpired in the months he lost, to understand what kind of life Hank was living now.

His first suspicion was confirmed instantly; Hank's blood alcohol level was at 0. Connor first realized Hank might have given up drinking when he'd noticed his clear, glowing complexion and the lack of fatigue in his face and in his attitude, but the smoking gun was the lack of booze in Hank's fridge and in his home. Connor couldn't help but poke around Hank's house in the early hours of the morning when he had nothing else to do.

When they'd met, Hank was a hopeless, spiraling alcoholic. What had changed over these last few months so drastically?

The further results of his scan turned out more of the same. His vitals were slightly improved, but Connor didn't need a scan to notice that Hank was looking healthier. He was so volatile and depressed when Connor met him… What happened? What was the missing element?

"Holy  _shit_!" Hank exclaimed, banging his fist on his desk. Connor started, immediately moving his gaze back to his monitor even though he had no idea what he was supposed to be looking at. He then turned his head to give Hank his attention, eyes blown open in perhaps  _too_ much surprise to not be suspicious, but Hank was absolutely absorbed in whatever he was reading.

"What is it?" Connor asked.

Hank shot up from his desk. "Westbay," Hank muttered, raking his fingers through his hair. "Fucking  _Westbay_."

"Westbay?" Connor repeated, pushing away from his desk to stand up and circle around his desk to Hank's.

"That's what the android said yesterday before he went berserk, 'westbay'. It was the only thing he said, you repeated it yourself."

Connor nodded in understanding. "I must not have stored that detail before my memory was deleted."

Hank's expression softened a fraction. He looked a little more tired. "Yeah, I… I figured. But look," Hank gestured to his monitor, where he'd highlighted a name on the fanlisting. The name read 'Laura Westbay'. "I thought the android was giving us a location, or- or maybe it was code for something, or just  _gibberish_ , but what if he was telling us who the next victim is?"

Connor rushed back to his own computer, his fingers flying over the keyboard, his visual processors locked onto the monitor with purpose. In seconds he had the information they needed.

"Laura Westbay. 48 years old, not married, currently lives in Detroit. She's a partner in a prominent law firm and has been a successful defense attorney for several years."

Hank's eyes grew wide the same moment Connor's crime-solving programming updated the facts of the case. "He's targeting people with anti-android views in high-profile positions of power and influence. He's making absolutely sure their murders will be noticed, talked about…. That's the message he's sending. That's his 'divine mission'."

Connor was already downloading all of Ms. Westbay's contact information from her firm's website and various other social media sources. "If it's alright with you, I'm going to call Ms. Westbay to see if she's…" Connor trailed off, trying to decide the best, most tactful way to phrase it.

"If she's been murdered yet, yeah," Hank finished for him, gesturing for him to continue. "Go ahead. Keep it vague, though, we just need to know if she's alive."

Connor called Ms. Westbay's work number first but he got no response. Next he attempted what he hoped was her personal cell phone, and after several rings he got an answer. Connor easily slipped into a telemarketer persona, just to confirm her identity, and although she'd hung up on him in record time he'd at least been able to confirm that she was alive, and judging by the exacerbated sigh just before she hung up on him, she seemed to be well.

When he relayed this information, Hank looked noticeably relieved. "Well, at least there's some good fucking news." Hank grabbed his jacket from the back of his chair. "You up for a stake out?"

.

.

.

The car was very quiet. They were parked across the street from Laura Westbay's residence, a nice little two-story house on the unassuming suburban block of Huntington Woods. It was actually ironic how picture-perfect the suburb was, how silly it seemed to have three strategically positioned unmarked police cars laid out along the street in wait. At last sighting, Ms. Westbay was inside her home, last seen walking down her long driveway to retrieve the mail.

Connor cast a subtle glance to his stake-out partner in the driver's seat, wondering for the one-hundredth time why things had turned out this way.

Gavin Reed - seeming to have finally registered that he was being watched - shot a thin-eyed stare Connor's way. His arms were folded tightly against his chest and he was slouching in his seat, his DPD hoodie scrunched up around his neck to give him an even more prickly demeanor than usual.

"What?" Gavin snapped.

Connor pointedly turned away to stare through the windshield. "Nothing."

"It's fucking something, or else you wouldn't be staring at me like a freak."

Connor realized that his best chance at getting along with Detective Reed was not to initiate or encourage conversation, but he almost couldn't help but engage. Now that he found himself no longer shackled to Cyberlife's programming, there were a lot of things he couldn't seem to help. Nameless errors, for one. Surges of emotion, utter confusion and blips of extremely out of character self-consciousness. Or perhaps it was the memory loss that had thrown him into this altered state, it was no longer possible to tell.

"I'm only speculating on why Lieutenant Anderson chose to pair us up for this stake-out. Based on your attitude toward me, I have surmised that our work relationship has not improved since my last accessible memory."

Gavin snorted. "You surmised correctly, smart-ass."

"So then, I wonder why-"

"Look," Gavin cut in curtly, "I'm so,  _so_ sorry you have to spend a whole few hours away from your precious Lieutenant, but maybe, just  _maybe_ you can be fucking quiet about it."

Connor's mouth mechanically closed. He fell silent and faced forward, his brow still creased in thought. Once again his programming reminded him - a little more urgently, now - that the best course of action was to comply with Detective Reed's rather firm request, but all his new, unshackled self could think to do was continue to engage. There was a powerful something in him that needed to voice the countless things that were spinning around in his confused mind, and even though Detective Reed was the very last person on the planet Connor ever expected he'd be spilling his proverbial guts to, yesterday was November and today he had a dick. Nothing made sense.

"Had I changed significantly in the last several months?" Connor asked, and at this point he wasn't sure if he was asking Gavin, himself or the universe. He half expected Gavin to just punch him, but when Gavin didn't move an inch Connor barreled on. "Had I become a different person? What kind of person was I?"

"How the fuck would I know?" Gavin laughed sardonically. "You think I kept tabs on your personal growth or something? I only just saw you again when you started working on this case. Why not ask Hank about all this philosophical bull-crap? You two live together, don't you?"

Connor's gaze drew to his lap, his eyes tracing the crotch of his pants where his currently deactivated upgrade rested uncomfortably between his thighs. Another error cropped up. He quickly looked away, out the passenger window. "He's had a stressful day. I don't want to bother him with more questions."

"So you're bothering me instead?"

For just a moment, Connor considered the lunacy of directing questions of that kind to Detective Reed of all people. A strange sensation sort of washed over him, and it took him another full moment to recognize it as shame. "I apologize." Connor offered stiffly. "I shouldn't have mentioned it."

Silence filled the car. For close to two minutes Connor expected that the rest of the stake out would be similarly silent until Gavin cleared his throat and issued a mildly aggravated sigh.

"Hank's been better." he said. Connor leveled him a confused frown, prompting Gavin to roll his eyes. "I don't know jack shit about how  _you've_  been, dumbass, but I see Hank's scruffy ass almost every day. As soon as you flipped sides and all that, Hank cleaned up his act. Got sober, started coming into work at actual human times, looked like he was actually taking care of himself a little. It's not like I give a shit what that old man gets up to, but it was impossible to ignore the change. And I figured it had something to do with you."

Connor wasn't sure what to say. If he were to draw up the numbers - which he already had - he would have given Gavin a solid .003% chance of engaging in a real conversation that didn't involve drawn out, aggressive insults. This reluctant sincerity was almost more shocking than discovering he had sexual upgrades.

"Like I said, it wasn't like I was paying attention or anything," Gavin grumbled, "it was just impossible to miss. He'd been living in a self-destructive cycle for so long, seeing him bounce back like that was the talk of the precinct for a while."

"What does that have to do with what kind of a person I was?" Connor asked gently, feeling very much like he was dealing with an unpredictable animal that might attack if pressed too hard.

Gavin groaned in frustration. "Are you serious? When you got your memory erased, did you lose your common sense protocols too?" At Connor's continued silence, Gavin's eyes rolled into the back of his skull and he tipped his head back and into the car's headrest. "Jesus christ. You pulled Hank back from the brink, is what I'm saying. You  _saved_ him, probably. That's the kind of person you were."

Connor's processors whirred gently with information. His lips formed a thin line and he stared blankly out the windshield. He recalled how clean and orderly Hank's house looked now. It looked like the house of a functioning human being who expected to continue living, to come home every day and do more than just drown himself in booze and regret. He thought of how much better Hank looked, how obvious his sobriety was. Had Connor really had a hand in all that?

"You called me a person," Connor pointed out.

"Accidents happen," Gavin grumbled.

"Why are you telling me all of this?" Connor pressed on, curious. "You could have easily ignored me."

Gavin's brow furrowed. He turned away, staring hard at Ms. Westbay's residence across the street. "Don't take it too personally." Gavin snapped. "It's just… Hank kinda saved my ass last night. I didn't react fast enough and he covered for me, so. I guess I just feel like I owe him, and I hate owing anybody anything. So, here we are."

"Last night?" Connor prodded gently. "I… wasn't aware an incident of that nature occurred. I'm glad Hank was there to assist you." A small part of him wanted to apologize for not being there himself, for laying useless in an alley as his brain was being slowly erased, but he refrained. He had a feeling Detective Reed's patience for his progressively personal thoughts and feelings was wearing thin. He couldn't really blame him. Connor never thought he could be so borderline vulnerable and needy; he supposed this is what an investigative-model android was reduced to when there were more questions than answers. Perhaps just apologizing for all the unnecessary chatter, then. "Detective Reed, I-"

"Well shit," Gavin was still staring out the driver's side window, but his posture had become rigid and alert. Connor refocused and followed his gaze, watching Ms. Westbay emerge from her home wearing a grey pantsuit and large sunglasses. She walked to her car and tossed a briefcase in the backseat. Gavin pulled out his police radio. "Hey I've got activity over here, looks like our girl is heading to work. Is someone in position to follow?"

" _We see her_ ," came Hank's voice on the other end. " _Connor and I checked out her work schedule, I figured she'd be leaving about now. Kahn? Jacobs? Are you in position to escort Ms. Westbay to work and back_?"

The radio cut out for only a moment before Kahn's voice spoke over the static. " _Roger that, we're ready to roll_."

Connor watched Ms. Westbay punch her destination into the driverless car's GPS, and the car pulled out of her driveway and down the street. A silver sudan followed at a reasonable distance. Gavin sighed and leaned back in his seat again, re-crossing his arms over his chest.

"Now let's just hope our friendly neighborhood serial killer shows up, or else I've had to spend the entire day sitting in a fucking car with your plastic ass for  _nothing_."

Connor sat back as well, resting his hands on his knees as awkward fists. "It's hard to say for sure whether or not this will be a fruitful stake out. Steven Harding was killed in his home, and Lana Garcia was lured to an abandoned location. His killings seem situational."

"Garcia had roommates with hectic schedules, he was just avoiding a run-in with any of them. Harding was coming home to a big empty house. Westbay's the same. She lives alone, and has a pretty easy-to-follow schedule. If she's his next target, chances are he's gonna execute his plan in exactly the same way."

Connor nodded thoughtfully. "More important than the killings is the display afterwards; he needs somewhere to create his 'art', so to speak, so I suppose the ideal place for that would be as you said, a big empty house."

Gavin barked a laugh. "Are you saying you agree with me, tin can?"

"It's hard to disagree with such sound logic, or ignore such obvious details about the case."

"I'll take that as android-speak for 'yes'." Gavin snickered, seeming rather pleased with himself. As if he'd just noticed that he was conversing with Connor as if they were true colleagues, Gavin's expression tightened and he pointedly squared his shoulders, turning his eyes away to again stare out across the street. Connor's social relations program identified Gavin's sudden rigidity as a clear 'fuck off', so he decided to stop pushing his luck and fell silent.

For close to three hours, Connor sat silently aside from the occasional affirmative that nothing unusual was happening outside. The sun was just starting to dip below the horizon, laying an yellow-orange hue over the peaceful neighborhood. Hank had just checked in with them via radio, and as silence reclaimed the car, a question popped up in Connor's mind that was just curious enough to warrant breaking his earlier vow of silence.

"Detective, may I ask you a personal question?" Connor asked gently, feeling a pang of something odd as soon as he'd spoken the words.

_Those are words I've only said to Hank._

He wasn't sure why a revelation like that would be relevant, but he wasn't given much time to consider it. Gavin groaned childishly.

"If I say no will it make a difference?" he replied.

Taking his response as obscure consent, Connor continued. "Considering your sizable dislike of androids, why aren't you a member of the anti-android club?" he asked.

Gavin snorted. "Clubs are for children. And people who live in their parent's basement."

" _Group_ , then. Regardless, the group's objectives seem to line up with your personal beliefs about androids." Connor said. "Yet your attitude toward the group members is borderline aggressive. You act as if they're ignorant and laughable."

Gavin shot Connor a glare. "You don't know  _anything_ about my beliefs," he snapped, "or anything about me. So just drop it."

"I only-"

" _Drop it_ ," Gavin hissed, and resolutely swiveled his seat to face away from Connor. The conversation flatlined and a new sort of tension filled the air between them. Connor wondered for the hundredth time why Hank stuck him with Gavin. Was he trying to avoid him? Punish him? Or was he hoping they might find some common ground, some odd camaraderie?

More questions than answers. His system was straining against the irregularities.

Gavin's radio buzzed with noise. Connor could tell that Gavin was already anticipating a routine check-in and was preparing a quick comeback when Hank's voice came urgently through the static.

" _We just got a ping from the home security system_." Hank said. Connor leaned in, his system switching to high alert. Before they left the precinct they'd made a call to Ms. Westbay's security provider and gained permission to monitor any unusual activity remotely; this way, even if the security provider wasn't alerted of any suspicious activity, Hank's team would be. " _It's been switched off_."

"Just now?" Gavin answered, sitting up in his seat and peering out through the driver's side window.

" _Yeah. Stay alert_."

"Shit." Gavin lowered his radio, shooting Connor a sidelong glance. "You think it's a good idea, you being here?" he asked. "If our guy shows up and sees you, it's all over. I doubt he'd forget the face of the android he memory-raped two days ago so quick."

Something deep in Connor's system surged uncomfortably.  _Memory-raped_. Although it seemed an insensitive comparison to make, Connor also had to admit that it wasn't too far off the mark. It was difficult to identify how that particular comparison made him feel. He remembered waking up in Hank's arms, his system already running an emergency diagnostic to assess the damage done. Although the alarming chunk of lost memory hadn't bothered him at the beginning, as soon as he saw Hank's horrified face, he realized that perhaps he'd been robbed of something. Connor never expected he would have ever existed long enough to have a 'life' for himself, but the more he saw of this unfamiliar world, the more he began to mourn what had been taken from him. It did, at its core, feel like a violation. Since Connor wasn't sure what to do with that information, he chose to ignore it as best he could, or come up with reasons as to why his memories were best left forgotten.

"These windows are tinted," came Connor's stiff reply after perhaps too lengthy of a pause. For just a flash, Connor thought he saw a flicker of regret on Gavin's face. "Lieutenant Anderson told me not to exit the vehicle unless instructed otherwise."

"Still seems like a risk," Gavin muttered, but said nothing more.

Connor's sharp optical processors caught movement across the street. A small figure wearing a purple hoodie was walking quickly but quietly, weaving in and out of the various bushes and trees lined up behind the houses. Connor couldn't scan the figure from this distance but they certainly fit the vague physical description of Michael Beckett's android, Leah.

"There," Connor said sharply, leaning across Gavin to point out the figure approaching Ms. Westbay's home. Gavin sputtered the beginnings of a curse before he realized where Connor was indicating and followed his finger. Gavin pulled out his radio.

"Anderson, we've got a suspicious figure in the vicinity, they're headed straight for Westbay's place."

A pause, and then, " _Copy that, I see em. Hold your position until they make a move_."

They didn't need to wait long. The figure slipped behind Westbay's home, heading directly to the back door. With the security system turned off, breaking in would be a snap.

" _Move_ ,  _now_ ," came Hank's voice over the radio. " _Reed, cover the South side, we need to surround her. Connor- you stay put, don't you make a move unless shit really hits the fan, got it?_ "

"Roger that," Gavin answered, slipping out of the car and making his way around the side of the house, gun drawn. Connor watched Hank and Chris exit their vehicle and flank the other side, his thirium pump accelerating with unfounded anxiety. They were going to be fine, obviously. There was nothing to worry about. They were ready this time, they had her surrounded, certainly  _this_ time they had the upper hand. One step ahead and all that.

Or so he hoped, but things rarely panned out for him the way they were meant to.

In moments, all hell broke loose. It was impossible to tell at this distance whether the android had somehow been alerted to their presence or if she'd been tipped off some other way, but suddenly she was running, vaulting over a short fence and narrowing missing Chris as he attempted to tackle her to the ground.

Connor shot out of the car like a bullet, hitting the pavement in a full sprint. He knew none of them would be able to catch Leah before she found some sneaky hidey-hole to disappear into, and if they lost her now, so would they lose their best lead. He jumped the fence after her before Chris or Gavin could even make it there, hearing Hank shout something from far behind him.

Connor quickly calculated all possible outcomes and maneuvers. His legs were longer than Leah's, and his model was built for endurance and combat. It was inevitable that he would catch up to her, but once she found herself detained it was likely she would attempt to self-destruct, just like the two androids before her. So long as he restrained her properly, it would be fine. He just needed to restrict her mobility, and-

Leah veered off very suddenly and decisively to the right and made a dash for the road ahead. Just beyond that road was a grassy partition, and beyond that a busy street, trucks and cars whizzing past, and Connor realized with a stab of panic that she was planning to run into traffic. Although Connor was certain he was faster than her, there was no way he'd catch up to her in time. Connor stopped at the edge of the road, overcome with a strange, almost debilitating fear. The traffic was loud and the sounds of the spinning wheels against asphalt echoed unpleasantly in his audio processors. What was wrong with him? Not two days ago, Connor wouldn't have thought twice about running headlong into traffic if it meant accomplishing his mission. He didn't know fear, he had no ounce of concern over his own well-being.

His mind buzzed with options. He instinctively reached into his pocket and pulled out the EMP device, turning it over nervously in his hand. He'd grabbed it before leaving the house today for reasons he hadn't totally nailed down, but the investigator in him reasoned that it might come in handy if they were dealing with a suicidal android. Speaking of, Connor's eyes flicked up to assess Leah's progress. She was still within range of the EMP device, but could  _he_ withstand another hit from this horrible thing?

Gavin appeared beside him, chest huffing, hands on his knees as he watched Leah continue on toward the street. Connor stared at him, gripping the EMP device tightly.

"She's heading for the fucking street!" Gavin panted, shooting Connor an accusatory glare. "Why aren't you-"

"Push this," Connor cut in, holding the device out and indicating the damning button. Gavin stared at the device in confusion but didn't make any move to take it, so Connor pushed it into his hand urgently. "Hold down this button for at least 10 seconds, now!"

"What is-"

" _Just do it!_ " Connor yelled, glancing at Leah's progress out of the corner of his eye. She was nearly at the barrier rail.

Gavin cursed and pressed the button, and Connor realized in a flash that he would never get used to the horrible sensation that followed.

Just like last night, Connor's programming felt like it was being pulled apart with surgical precision, line by line, while the rest of his software blew to pieces like compact explosions inside his plastic skull. His senses skewed and he lost control of every piece of himself, just like before, but this time the sensation seemed to stretch on forever.

The noise left him. His mind struggled to fit itself back together, his processors sluggish to respond. He could hear a voice floating to him, and then several voices, and when finally his optical processors came back online he saw Hank knelt beside him, that same overly-concerned expression on his face. Connor saw movement over Hank's shoulder and his eyes narrowed to try and better see what looked like two figures walking with a smaller figure between them. His vision refocused enough to make out Gavin and Chris holding firmly to each of Leah's arms. Leah looked how Connor felt; she was completely disoriented but she was in  _one piece_. Connor felt an immediate rush of relief. It worked, she'd been in range of the EMP field.

"Connor!" Hank's voice sounded clearer, and finally Connor felt he could actually answer.

"Hank," Connor returned, seeing the flash of relief in Hank's eyes. He glanced back at Gavin and Chris, who were busy restraining Leah and maneuvering her mostly limp body into the back of one of the unmarked cars. "Is that Leah? Did we find her?"

"Yeah, that's her. And your little trick probably saved her life." Hank answered, following Connor's eyeline. "But you could have fuckin'  _warned_ me you were gonna pull something like that. It was a good plan and all, but shit, Connor."

"I didn't exactly know I was going to do it before I did it," Connor admitted weakly. He glanced back at the car; Gavin was looking at the two of them, though he quickly looked away when their eyes met.

"You freaked him out," Hank said with an amused chuckle. "I think he thought he fucking killed you. As to why that might have disturbed him instead of delighting him, I can't possibly guess. Did you guys hit it off or something?"

Connor tried to respond with something equally witty but his vocal processors shut down, errors springing up like weeds in his programming. He attempted to sit up but his mobility system protested, his legs completely offline. Hank braced a supportive hand on his back.

_Error_

"Hey, slow down," Hank said. "I know Kamski said that the EMP thing can't really hurt you, but he also said it can pack a wallop. You've experienced it three times in two days, you can't be feeling real good right now."

"I'm fine," Connor lied, justifying his mistruth by reminding himself that the case came first. "I just need a moment."

"A moment my ass," Hank grumbled. "Connor, you can't even stand up."

"I certainly  _can_ stand up."

"Okay, then stand up."

Connor's lips formed a frown. "Well, perhaps I can't stand at this very moment, but-"

"Connor," Hank cut him off, giving his shoulder a squeeze. Another orginless error jumped up. "You are officially on bed rest."

Connor's plastic spine straightened and he shot Hank the most offended look he could muster. "I can't get taken off the case now, not when we've just managed to detain an android associated with our killer!" he protested. "I can still be useful, you might need me during the interrogation!"

"We won't be interrogating her anytime soon, and you're not being taken off the case. You need to  _rest_. I'm no android expert but I know there's no way your system isn't going haywire right now.  _You can't even stand up_."

"My mobility system will be back online in 20 seconds!" Connor argued. Hank shook his head.

"That's an  _order_ , Connor. I want you to take it easy for the rest of the day, do what you need to do to get your systems right. Understood?"

It took everything Connor had not to openly pout. "Yes," he answered. Hank patted his shoulder encouragingly. More errors. Why was there such a strong correlation between these empty error messages and physical contact with Lieutenant Anderson?

"Great." Hank wound his arm under Connor's armpit and across his back to help hoist him to his feet; Connor held tight to Hank's shoulder, his legs still feeling weak and shaky under him. With his free hand, Hank whipped out his phone. "I'm gonna call us a cab."

"Us?" Connor asked curiously. Hank nodded vaguely, scrolling through his contacts.

"Sure," Hank answered offhandedly. "You think I'd just leave you by yourself right now?"

Something soft and light fluttered somewhere in Connor's programming. There was some part of him that actually enjoyed the prospect of Hank dropping everything to escort him home, doting on him, caring for him. His immediate response to that feeling was to avoid it.

"You have to!" Connor argued firmly. "If I can't be there, you're the next best person to oversee Leah's safety. Leah is the first intact android we've been able to detain, it's  _vital_ she remains undamaged and taken care of."

Hank shot Connor a vaguely affronted look. "I know that!" He slid his phone back into his pocket with a long sigh. "You sure you'll be okay on your own?"

"I'll be with Sumo, I'm sure not much could go wrong."

"You'll text me if something comes up?" Hank urged gently. "Anything at all?"

"Yes," Connor assured. His system buzzed with satisfaction over being cared about, he felt like he was drinking in Hank's concern for him like he was dying of thirst, and the sensation terrified him. "I will use the time to repair the affected areas of my system, and possibly perform a soft system reset. Nothing you need to worry about. Please focus on the case."

Hank leveled him a curious look that almost had Connor panicking on the inside, certain that Hank could  _feel_ the outpouring of satisfaction coursing through his system, but before Connor could babble his way through whatever he was feeling Hank dropped his gaze and nodded. A driverless cab pulled around up the street. Hank gave Connor's back a strong pat.

"I will, don't worry. You just rest up."

Hank walked Connor to the cab, his hand firmly on the low of Connor's back as Connor's shaky legs carried him the rest of the way, lamenting the moment he could no longer feel the sensation of Hank's fingers along his spine. He fell into the backseat, his fragmented mind reeling, trying and failing to understand more about this strange desire for more of Hank's friendly touches, the underpinning of satisfaction for Hank's concern and attention.

Connor wanted to say something, he wasn't certain what, but the door slid shut and Hank had already turned away as the cab started off toward its selected destination.

.

.

.

Sumo was excited to see him when he returned to the house. Connor let him outside for a bathroom break although he was still vaguely unsteady on his feet, and refilled his water dish once they came inside. As Sumo noisily lapped at his water, Connor dragged himself to the couch and fell into it. He'd once thought it was impossible for an android to experience exhaustion of any kind, but he couldn't attribute the weary state of his mind or body to any other descriptor. His brain was still a fragmented mess, various errors clouding his HUD as his repair programs worked overtime to piece everything back together.

Connor lay his head back on the couch and stared at the ceiling, processing the events of the day. It was getting more and more difficult to keep up with how  _full_ his life had somehow become. In his last accessible memories, he'd had no home, no friends, no purpose other than following Cyberlife's orders and completing his mission. Yesterday he'd woken to all of those things, but no memory of any of them. He felt so disconnected from everything, like he was an imposter who'd suddenly been thrown into someone else's life. After Kamski assured him that the frequent, sourceless errors in his system were harmless, Connor assumed they were simply a result of this disconnection - his software trying to feel it's way through the inconsistencies - but now, he wasn't so sure.

They only occurred when he had direct, physical contact with Hank.

_Error_

Correction: they only occur when he experiences  _or thinks_  about direct, physical contact with Hank. And he couldn't deny there were a handful of times when he'd experienced those same errors when speculating on his relationship with Hank, or as a result of Hank showing concern for him.

Errors aside, Connor found that he spent a lot of processing power thinking about Hank, being curious about Hank, and observing Hank. Back in November it was very much the same, though it had started out as a mandatory part of his mission; if he couldn't find ways to ensure Hank's cooperation with him throughout the investigation, he risked failing his mission. So it quickly became imperative that he understand Hank, take an interest in him, and earn his trust. Even back then, it hadn't stayed that way for long. He'd first noticed it on that rooftop when in pursuit of the pigeon-loving deviant. For reasons he couldn't clearly identify, he'd allowed their suspect to escape in favor of pulling Hank up from the edge of the roof, although his probability program indicated Hank likely would have been able to pull himself up without help. Something changed in him then, he knew that.

So why now was Hank's touch creating these errors? Part of him wished he could somehow rewind time and ask pre-memory erased Connor if this was something he'd once dealt with, and if so, if he ever discovered the cause.

_> Are you okay, baby?_

Connor slid his hands over his face. Was this all just a result of his accident yesterday? Was his system still calibrating? Whatever was going on, worrying about it in his current state wasn't going to do him any good. Connor looked down at himself, eyeing the glowing triangle on his chest. Perhaps this uniform wasn't suitable in today's world after all. His other suit was more than likely dry by now, but he thought perhaps a more casual outfit might serve him better just at the moment. Connor stretched his arms out in front of him, experimenting with the strain of fabric against his skin. His tactile input was so much more sensitive than it used to be. He'd been trying to ignore it for the better part of the day, but it was impossible to miss how restrictive his clothes suddenly felt. The earlier chase only cemented this fact. Cyberlife absolutely didn't design these uniforms with comfort in mind.

Although his legs were still shaky, Connor pushed himself up and shuffled to Hank's room to change clothes. His motor skills still weren't operating at 100%, so the process was slow and awkward. He was still rather new to taking off and putting on clothes; perhaps he'd previously mastered it, but as with everything else, he no longer had access to that information.

Regardless of his relative clumsiness, in minutes Connor had shimmied out of his uniform and laid it out on Hank's bed. He paused on his way to the closet. Something about standing in Hank's bedroom practically nude and inches from Hank's bed was strangely surreal. He couldn't decide why, exactly, or how that particular feeling correlated with the onslaught of errors that now peppered his HUD, but he had specifically decided not to dwell on things like this just moments ago and he intended to follow through.

Perhaps somewhat intentionally, Connor glanced down at the slate-grey briefs that hugged his groin and thighs. He eyed the subtle bulge.

> _Ḡ̃̆̌ͩ͑ẻͤͮ͠t̸ ̷tͯ̃oͩͬ̒͝ ̃͆̐͠k͊̇no̓̆̃ͭ̉͛w̶̐̔ ̍͒̌ͣ́ͭ͗y̋̃ͣ̾̚͟oͤ̓ͫͮư̓ͥ̂̍r̒ͪ͘s͗͗͢ë̔̌̃l̴ͨf̧ͧ͂,̃̀̂͛͑͑ ̢ba̧ͫͤ̏̆̿̚b̴̓͊ÿ̶͌̊̍͂_

Connor hissed and brought a hand to his eyes. Whatever strange, mangled audio file that just came up was gone just as quickly, leaving a painful echo in his brain casing. He supposed his system was still scrambled from the EMP device's many assaults over the last couple of days, but this was getting ridiculous. Connor needed to sleep, but first he needed clothes. If he could just find something suitable to wear, he could put this whole confusing day far behind him and hopefully come back online refreshed and ready to work.

He just didn't want to cause Hank any more problems.

Connor slid Hank's closet open, locating the Knights of the Black Death shirt he'd pulled from the dryer that morning. He hoped Hank wouldn't mind him borrowing casual clothes while he was lounging around at home, at least until Hank finally got around to telling him where in the world his own clothes were kept. He pulled the shirt over his head and torso, his arms still weak and trembling. As soon as his head popped out of the shirt, he caught a glimpse of something in the back of Hank's closet on the floor. Out of habit, he scanned it.

It was a completely nondescript brown box, but the item inside of it was what caused each and every process in Connor's system to grind to a screeching halt.

A pelvic panel for a RK800 model android.

Connor staggered backward. Fuzzy realization washed over him, but it only spawned more questions. All this time he'd assumed Hank had no idea he'd installed an erotic upgrade, but his discarded pelvic panel was being stored in Hank's closet. Hank knew. More than knew, he might have helped. Connor's mind was spinning. His already shaky system was imploding in on itself with a mixture of shame, embarrassment, and confusion. Why hadn't Hank told him that he knew? If Hank knew why Connor had this upgrade, why didn't he prepare him for the changes it brought? What  _was_ his relationship with the lieutenant? Strictly roommates? Buddies? Close friends?

Very  _very_ close friends?

The ringing in Connor's mind was intensifying by the second. He couldn't think anymore, couldn't stand to run one more inquiry program about his own confusing life. Connor stumbled into the hallway, wanting to put as much distance between himself and that box as he could, but halfway to the living room his legs stopped responding and his HUD flickered and dimmed.

_System corruption at 87%_

_Urgent restart required_

Connor's legs crumpled under him and he hit the floor, only vaguely aware of the large, furry body that hurried over to his unresponsive body in alarm. And then the world went black.

.

Connor's system came back online, dragging him sluggishly back to consciousness, still devoting much of his processing power to sorting out the bugs and corruption left over from all the EMP hits. Sound was the first sense to return, though his audio processors were still riddled with errors and the world sounded very far away. The first thing Connor heard was his own name. It still sounded like someone was shouting it to him from across a very crowded room, but Connor could at least identify that it was Hank calling to him, his gruff voice carrying a note of genuine concern. Why was he always so concerned? Even back when they barely knew each other Hank looked after him, worried about him, and Connor couldn't understand why.

_> I̼͉̠̘ ̷ą̥̳̼l̪ͅway̟̟̙̣s̨̥̱͙̬̻͇ ̡̪͍̜͉̤͉ͅc͏̞̬͔̖̹̱a͈̖̹̼̬r̛e̙͔̜d̜̖̩͚͉ about ý̺̼͍̹̩o̷̬̬͓̟̯u̮͉̺,͙͜ ̴̝̝̯C̠̲̟̤̼̥o̖͠n̞͈̝̝̪͈͢ṇ̵͙o͡r̦͔̱͢,̮̥̤̙͓̮̰͜ ̞̘͓̼̩̤͇b҉̬̼͎̩̤u͕̙̩̜̟t͓̤̗̹̞̖ͅ ̧t̖̬̲́h̗̖̻̖̪̤i̦̙̮͖̲͎s̩̬̟̤̼ ͍̳͇͔͉̫̕i̺̳͙̟s̛̩̹̭…̼̞̰͎ ̱Fuc̣̠k̜͕̤̲.͍̲̭̪_

A back alley, a fork in the path. A lead on their case, he thought, where they had discovered the CX200 - Thomas, his name was Thomas, Hank said - but it was difficult to pinpoint what was going on. He could almost see Hank standing in front of him, his eyes downcast, his expression fragile. The memory was corroded, but it replayed itself in Connor's mind regardless, broken and garbled.

_> T̬he͖̩̪͈͉͈̻ ͜t̪h͡o̲͠u̺̺̫ght ̼̯͔̹̳o͓̥fͅ ̢̞͚̖̻s̹o̭͟m͔̭̲e͇͜t̯̜hi̶͍͈̫̖̜̬n͎̖͜g̦̟̝ ̧̮͉͎̝͖happen̝̣̰͉̦̞͈i̯͔͓̜̭̻̮͝n̬̰̻̘̝' ̷̱t̫o̸̘̠͎̯̺͈ ̝̦̪͉́ͅy̻̼͓̤̻̩͡o͔̬̫̺͚̬u̼̟͚̭̤̕,̼͞ ͎̠i̷̬̗͈͔̮̤̮ṯ̴̼̩͖̪̣'̻s̷ ̟̬̺͓̥͉͡j͉u̸̩͎͕s҉͉̣̖̦̝̩͔t̹͍ ̨̱t͏͙o̘͖̙͎̗̟ͅo̕ ̖̫̬͚̼͎̙ḿ̗̺͓̠͔̥ṳc͓h̥̭̼͇̹͉͔.̬͇̙̝̬̞ ̭͔̦̗̤̘͕I̟͇͔͡t̨̟̤̻̣̫'̜̟͍̣s ̫̼͉̥̘̥t̖͎̹̖̭͞o͔̞͔̫̟o̥̙͍͠ ̺d̡͙̜͈ͅamn ̠͍̣̝̦m̼̘͖͈̲̬̤uͅc̵̗̦h҉̝_

Connor closed the looping memory file, still trying to get his bearings. Hank's hold was strong around him, he could feel him, and it felt so much like when he'd woken after getting his memory erased. The same note of panic in Hank's voice, the same tight embrace.

_> Are you okay, baby?_

He hadn't deleted that audio file yet. It was obviously an error. It had to be. Connor didn't want it to be. He wanted it to be real. He wanted to believe that Hank called him such an intimate term of endearment. He wanted Hank.

Oh shit,  _he wanted Hank_.

Connor's mobility system was online, but his thoughts and processors were still muddled and disjointed. Nothing felt real. His processors were clogged with a cacophony of corroded memories, a confusing audio file he refused to delete and knowledge of that box in Hank's closet.

Hank's face came into focus, his eyes earnest. Connor liked the way Hank looked at him. He wanted him to never stop looking at him like that, like he  _mattered_ , like if something bad truly happened to him it might affect Hank's life negatively. Hank looked at him as if he cared about him,  _genuinely_ cared about him, and that simple feeling made Connor yearn and ache in ways he wasn't even remotely coherent enough to process. Connor lifted a hand to Hank's face. He watched Hank's face freeze in confusion and perhaps a hint of fear as Connor pushed himself up, slotting their mouths together.

For a surreal slice of time, there was nothing but bliss. It felt so comfortable to kiss Hank, so natural. Connor grabbed blindly for Hank's jacket, gripping it tight in his fingers to keep him close. It almost felt like an invisible weight had been lifted. Was this just another broken memory, or was it really happening? Connor couldn't be sure, but he didn't want it to end. He parted his lips and cradled the back of Hank's neck, dragging Hank into a deeper kiss. Hank didn't pull away, didn't stop him, but his body was tense and the arm wrapped around Connor's shoulders was slowly loosening its hold. Connor wasn't in any state of mind to recognize Hank's cues; he was lost in some kind of repressed episode, existing briefly in a surreal fantasy where Hank and he were lovers, that he was cherished by someone, and that someone was  _Hank Anderson_. He belonged somewhere in this ever-changing world.

Hank suddenly and decisively clasped his fingers around Connor's shoulders and pulled him off. Still caught in that hazy state of euphoria Connor chased his lips, desperate to keep going, but Hank held him firmly and gave him a strong shake. The desired result was achieved; Connor's senses were slowly returning to him as his system stabilized.

"Connor," Hank's voice was gravelly. He sounded upset, but Connor wasn't sure in what way. "What are you doing."

Connor felt ten shades of shame and horror wash over him. His expression must have mirrored this because Hank's own became softer, sadder. "I-" Connor didn't have words. How could he explain? How could he apologize? Why did this all feel so strangely familiar? "Hank, I- I apologize for my conduct. I can't  _begin_ to explain why my system reacted in such an inappropriate way, I-"

"Hey, it's uhh, it's fine," Hank's eyes were turned away and he released Connor to stand, hesitating a moment before offering Connor a hand to help him to his feet. Almost like he had to seriously consider if he wanted to touch him again. Shame aside, Connor realized he wouldn't be able to stand on his own at the moment - his system was frustratingly slow right now, and his legs still weren't operating correctly - so he took Hank's hand, allowing himself to be pulled up. Sumo appeared at his side, tail wagging in slow sweeps. "You're probably still pretty fucked up after all those electro-whatever waves, right? You okay now?"

"I'm recovering," Connor answered, trying his best to stand upright without further assistance. "I apologize for the trouble. The excessive exposure to EMP waves must have impaired my self-diagnosis capabilities. I was unable to properly assess the damage done."

Hank helped Connor to the living room couch, sitting him down onto it. Sumo followed closely, concerned, laying his head on the cushion next to Connor's leg. "But you're gonna get better, right?"

Something churned in Connor's abdomen.  _Did_ Hank really care about him? Or was his concern borne from some kind of obscure obligation? "My system needs a few more hours for reconstruction and program rebooting, then I should be back in working order."

"Right. Good." Hank still wasn't meeting his eyes, and soon Connor discovered why. He was wearing only a faded, oversized t-shirt and briefs. He'd passed out before he could find suitable pants to wear.

Would this humiliation never end?

"So, uhm, how is Leah?" Connor asked softly, self-consciously pulling his t-shirt down to cover himself. "Has Mike been told?"

Hank scratched the back of his neck. "Leah's fine for now. Well, I'm not really sure 'fine' is the best word - she's completely unresponsive. I guess when these androids aren't given the chance to kill themselves, they just shut down. She's not hurt, though. I told Mike, but given the situation there's nothing he can do but wait for more info. It's kind of a mess, but at least we stopped Leah before she could kill Laura Westbay."

"That's good." Connor stared down into his lap. Embarrassingly, he cared very little about the case at this exact moment. There were other burning questions on his mind, and he was still replaying the kiss he'd just initiated, the kiss that neither of them were talking about right now. "Hank, about what happened just now-"

"Well, I'm gonna hit the hay," Hank was already making his way toward the hallway with haste. "When you're feeling better, I'll show you where you usually keep your clothes."

"T-thanks," Connor replied clumsily. He didn't want to leave it like this tonight, but he had no idea what he could possibly say to put right what he'd done.

"Try to take it easy tonight. I don't wanna find you on the floor again."

Connor mumbled an affirmative. He wanted to say a lot of things, wanted to ask about the box, the kiss, the strange, yearning emotions that seemed to fill up every inch of his plastic body. But he didn't.

"'Night." Hank went into his room and shut the door. Connor looked down at his hands.

So familiar.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Y I K E S shit's getting awkward in here am I right lads
> 
> aaaaaaaaaa I am so sorry for the long wait, life's been crazy lately and on top of that, burn-out hit me haaard. Had to take a couple week off of writing just to keep my sanity, but now I'm back and I'm super psyched to finish this thing. The finish line is in sight! Plus, the Hankcon Reverse Big-Bang is in full-swing and I've got a fic to write for that, too, so there'll be a lot of lovely Hankcon on the horizon. 
> 
> JUST A QUICK NOTE. I wanna be clear about Gavin's involvement in this fic. I'm not a real big fan of the character myself, (Reed900 is lovely, but I just sort of passively ship it I guess? Like it's cool that it exists I'm just not all about it) so his part in all this isn't really an attempt at 'humanizing' or 'redeeming' him. We didn't really get enough context about Gavin as a fully-fleshed out character in the game to know if he'd eventually come around to androids in any capacity, (I honestly think he wouldn't, but I guess in the context of this fic it makes sense) but I still wanted him to be more than just an edgy antagonist, you know? I know a lot of Hankcon shippers kinda hate Gavin, so I just wanted to assure the Gavin-haters out there that his development in my fic isn't really about painting him as a sympathetic character, it's more about letting the story pan out in a more natural way, if that makes sense. And to the Gavin-lovers out there? You are valid as heck and just keep on enjoying this garbage boy's development
> 
> Also: **HAPPY 1ST BIRTHDAY DBH!** Can you guys believe it's already been an entire year since the game's been out? Banana balls


End file.
